


The Cage

by Athaia



Series: Planet of the Apes: Hunted [11]
Category: Planet of the Apes (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Apocalyptic, Reboot, action-adventure, pit fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-06-13 13:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15365607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athaia/pseuds/Athaia
Summary: When their hard-won money is lost to robbers, Galen has to hire out the humans again. But when Burke goes missing in the seedy border town of Etissa, and the apes need Virdon back sooner than planned to help them find him, Galen discovers that he had made a terrible mistake...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm experimenting with a non-linear structure here, and for that reason, I can't spoil the reveal with a story warning. I will, however, put up a note with a warning for the respective chapters that contain the reason for the mature rating.

Thick morning fog curled around the bases of Etissa’s houses, hiding the treetops and tickling Galen’s throat as he hurried up the long slope to the town’s more affluent quarter. He coughed from the cold, wet air as much as from exertion, but he didn’t slow down until he reached a grove of huge chestnut trees that held a sprawling mansion in its collective crown. Up here, apes had still held on to their old way of life - the fog had just hidden the tree houses from view before.

He stopped at the biggest trunk, hands on his knees, until his breath had calmed down and the tickling in his throat had eased. It had been foolish to run all the way, but Zana had been so agitated that he hadn’t dared to slow down.

When he straightened to ring for permission to ascend, his gaze fell upon the business sign that had been burned into the bark.

Galen’s hand stopped halfway to the rope, hovering in mid-air, as he scanned the symbols again.

And a third time, his nose twitching violently. He cast a quick glance at the buildings sprawling behind the grove.

Galen snatched the rope and pulled so hard at it that it snapped.

He had come here too late - three days too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**Three days earlier**

The rains hadn’t stopped for days, and everything - _everything -_ was dripping wet: Zana’s robe, and her fur underneath; the wood of the bench she was sitting on; the horses; even the canopy of the wagon was beginning to sag, big puddles of water collecting on the waxed cotton and soaking through every spot where the workers hadn’t applied enough wax to the fabric.

And what didn’t get drenched by the rain was slowly moistening in the fog that never lifted. Just this morning, Alan had thrown away a whole box of oats for the horses because it had developed mold. Zana had never heard him curse before; but Alan was worried that he had fed the horses bad oats for the last few days, before the mold had become visible.

It was as if they were traveling through a cloud, Zana thought. A big, gray, endless cloud that swallowed the sun and threw them into an eternal twilight... like the silent roads of the dead, forever winding through the First Forest.

Although she didn’t think that the dead had to shake the rain out of their fur all the time. She was tempted to crawl back under her covers, instead of keeping Galen company; but for one thing, it didn’t seem right to leave him alone, cowering on the driver’s seat, dripping and miserable, and for the other, her blankets would be damp and cold and altogether nasty to lie in.

She threw a quick glance into the back, where Peet was huddled against the side of the wagon, damp blankets slung over his shoulders. He looked as cold and miserable as she was, and Zana felt a pang of sympathy for the humans - without fur, the weather had to be even harder on them than it was on her and Galen.

Peet had slowly gone back to normal... what counted as normal for him since Urko... after she had apologized for her compulsive grooming, and had promised to stop with the habit. For a while, this had led to a different kind of awkwardness between them, with her apologizing for every accidental touch; but Zana thought that they had found a middle ground by now that almost felt like their old camaraderie.

Alan wasn’t working on his leather belts today; he’d said that the damp cold made his fingers numb. Instead, he was trying to light a fire in one of her cooking pots, hopefully for making tea. If he managed to pull off this trick, she’d have to find something to reward him with. Which would prove difficult, because Alan seemed to be always busy with work, and she had no idea what he’d regard as recreation...

“I’m afraid it’ll be like this for a long time,” Galen murmured, as if he’d read her thoughts. He had hunched his shoulders, and drawn the hood of his travel robe over his head - the sturdy, waxed robes were the only souvenirs from Sapan that Zana had come to be grateful for - so that it completely obscured his face. Talking to him was like talking to a turtle. A snuffy turtle.

“I can’t remember that the winters in the City were that bad.” Zana retracted her hands into the sleeves of her robe and wished for Alan to be finally successful with his firepot experiment.

“That’s because you had a house to live in, with a functioning heating to keep it dry,” Galen’s nasal voice sounded from the depth of his hood. “And if the rains got too bad, you just stayed inside for days...” He sneezed.

“Can’t we stop for a moment to make some tea?” Zana asked. “I’m sure something hot would do us all some good...”

“I’d love a mug of hot tea,” Galen wheezed, “but I’d love to reach the next town before nightfall even more. Hot tea, a hot oven, Zana, we can dry our clothes, and sleep in dry, warm beds...”

“That sounds lovely,” Zana murmured, shivering. Normally, the temperature wouldn’t bother her, but since she had refused to wear the waxed robe at first, her fur was soaked with rain and fog. It had been stupid, but for a while, she hadn’t wanted to be reminded of Sapan. Considering that Galen _was_ wearing that robe under her very nose, her strategy had been pointless, and she had relented in the end. But it would take some time before her fur would dry out underneath the travel robe, and provide protection against the elements again.

For a while, Galen didn’t say anything; Zana only heard him sniffle from time to time.

“Maybe they’ll also have a nice... tavern there,” he finally said, and Zana wondered about his hesitant tone. Was he still thinking of Rogan and his insistence to meet her in his favorite tavern to fill her in on the latest developments of their murder case?

“Yes, maybe,” she said noncommittally.

“The last weeks have been... difficult,” Galen ventured, “and I, I know I haven’t been the help you’d have needed... and, and deserved.”

Zana waited, unsure where this was going.

“And I... well.” Galen sniffed again, and Zana fought the urge to crawl back into the wagon and find something to offer him as a handkerchief.

“I thought maybe we could have... dinner... together... in that tavern. If they have one,” Galen said awkwardly.

“That... would be nice... I guess,” Zana said. Where had he gotten the idea to take her out on a date? She hadn’t talked of her doubts about her relationship with anyone save Alan, and she was absolutely sure that Alan hadn’t told Galen anything. Alan didn’t betray confidences, and besides, he and Galen were still not on speaking terms.

“Well, only if you want to,” Galen said dejectedly.

Did she want to? Zana wasn’t sure. Right now, the thought of a hot tea and a dry bed was far more attractive than the thought of sipping wine in a tavern and trying to make conversation with Galen, especially since the conversation would probably be as awkward as the one they were having right now.

But he was making an effort. He was reaching out to her, and she couldn’t just ignore that. It struck her as petty, and that was a trait she loathed in others, so she wouldn’t indulge in it herself now.

Feeling very virtuous, Zana sighed and flicked water from her sleeve. “It sounds like a lovely idea, Galen, but I think I’ll only be able to fully appreciate it once I’ve dried out and warmed up.”

“Oh, oh yes, absolutely,” Galen said, audibly relieved. “If we don’t stop at noon, we should reach the next town in about four _atseht,_ according to my map...”

Tala jerked her head back all of a sudden, and Ahpahchee reared in his harness. Galen pulled at the reins, too surprised to utter a word. Zana grabbed the handrest of her seat, her heart thudding against her breastbone. What had happened? Why were the horses-

“Hands up! Hands _up!”_

The voice was male, hoarse... young. But its owner was a gray shadow in the fog that was wafting over the muddy road. Zana turned her head to stare at Galen, dizzy with the sudden surge of alarm that made the blood throb in her temples.

Galen sat frozen for a moment; then he slowly, deliberately bent forward to wrap the lines around the rein hitch, and equally slowly raised his hands over his head.

“You, too,” the rough voice said, and Zana flinched and obeyed.

The shadow moved closer, followed by other shadows that were now coalescing from the fog, and Zana saw that they were humans; hollow-eyed, shaggy-haired, barefoot even in this weather, and with an aura of hunger and despair that reminded her of a starving bushcat.

Only bushcats didn’t come in packs.

“Sorry to interrupt your cruise, master,” the leader said, but it didn’t sound half as sarcastic as he had probably intended - his teeth were clattering, and his whole, emaciated body was shaking like a leaf in a strong storm. Zana couldn’t say if he was terrified, tense with excitement, or shaking from the cold, but his companions were armed with bows, and the tips of their arrows _didn’t_ shake.

They were pointing right between her eyes.

Zana was so hypnotized by that tiny, slate-colored point aimed at her that she couldn’t even move a muscle when something rustled in the wagon behind her. Then she heard a quiet murmur. “Come in, pal. Slowly.”

Peet’s voice.

Maybe it was good that she couldn’t move. The humans’ leader didn’t seem to have noticed anything; he was sauntering towards them, one hand gliding along Tala’s back as if he was already cutting her up in his mind. Zana felt tears of rage and horror prick her eyes. _He can’t have Tala! Or Ahpahchee!_

“We’ll let you go on your merry way in a moment, master,” the human said. “But we’re hungry and cold, and the weather’s just _awful_ this time o’year. So we’d be grateful for a small donation.” He stopped at Tala’s tail and grabbed the dashboard with one hand. “We even offer a service for your troubles. Safe passage until Etissa.”

His smile was predatory. “Roads are so unsafe around these parts.”

Zana tried to swallow, but her throat was dry.

Something moved behind her, and suddenly, a sharp smell of musk and oil assaulted Zana’s nose. A human pushed between her and Galen-

No, he was pushed. By Peet. And Peet had his knife at the human’s throat.

“Yeah, I can see that the roads are shitty around here,” Peet drawled. “Must be the shit that’s rotting in the underbrush. Your buddy here could use a bath, but maybe I’m being unfair an’ he shat his pants just now. An’ he’s got reason to.”

Zana could hear the human breathing rapidly through his nose, moving snot up and down with each breath, but she didn’t dare to turn her head to look at him. She didn’t dare to move at all.

The leader narrowed his eyes. He was younger than Zana had thought at first. “If you draw just a single drop from him, I’ll have my people shoot your masters,” he said.

“If any of your ragdolls loses an arrow, I’ll cut your darling’s throat,” Peet said friendly. “An’ my friend has a gun pointed at your head.”

Zana heard the now familiar ratcheting sound as Alan worked Betsy’s lever.

“See?” Peet said, still deceptively friendly. “This is a damn interesting situation. We might lose our apes, but you _will_ lose your lives. All of you. And hey, then me an’ my friend will own this wagon and its contents. Seems like a lose-lose situation for you.”

Peet was just bluffing, Zana reminded herself.

“And a lose-lose situation for your masters.” The leader didn’t move; neither did his minions. The arrows were still pointing at her and Galen, and Zana began to wonder how long the archers would be able to keep the bowstrings drawn - if they all were as starved as this young human, they might not be able to endure that strain for much longer.

They _were_ starving; none of them looked as if they would survive the winter.

“What are you doing out here?” she heard herself ask. “Why don’t you live with your masters? You’d have everything you need, food, clothes, shelter...”

”... a whip or a crop every day, and a branding iron on high days,” someone from among the archers scoffed. “Yeah, we’d be catered to in every way.” He let his bow sink and stepped forward - an older man with a grizzled face and white hair. “They sold away my children, one by one, lady! One by one, and my woman died from a broken heart! I’m not going back there!”

Zana saw tears glint in the human’s eyes, and felt her own eyes fill in response. “Oh, that... I’m so sorry about that...” To lose one’s children like that, not just one, but all of them...

“We’ve all enjoyed the care of the apes,” the leader growled, “and we all prefer the hunger and the cold to it. At least out here we’re free.”

“You ain’t shit out here,” Peet said flatly. “You’re dogs eating garbage and snapping at your masters’ heels. You’re pathetic.”

“Better a street dog than a lap dog,” the reader scoffed, and Zana fleetingly wondered what animal these two were comparing each other to. They certainly were staring each other down like two angry bushcats, and it was only a matter of time until someone would lose their nerve, and this would end in bloodshed...

“Galen, dear,” she said. “Give these people our food. All of it.”

She saw Galen pull his hood back, to better gape at her. To her left, Peet growled “Bad move!” under his breath.

She paid him no heed. “These people are starving. I can understand that desperation can lead to... unwise choices. And we can stock up on food again once we reach the next town. But surely you know,” she turned to the scraggy youth at Tala’s flank, “that this can’t be a permanent solution for you and your people? You either rob only a few travelers, which won’t suffice to feed you, or you rob a lot of travelers, which will just bring the mountain guard down on your necks.”

“How we deal is none of your business,” the youth snapped, but he waved for his people to lower their weapons. Zana drew a cautious breath of relief.

“Now give us the food,” the leader demanded, and Zana finally dared to turn her head and nod at Galen, who was visibly unhappy with her solution. Still, he wisely kept his mouth shut as he turned away and awkwardly climbed down from the wagon, hampered by his heavy travel robe.

“Come back here, Galen,” Peet snapped, and added “you idiot” under his breath. “Climb through the back, not-”

It was because Galen was still shocked from the ambush, Zana mused later. That’s why he jumped off the wagon to walk along its side to the back automatically, the way he’d been doing every day for months, instead of crawling from the driver’s seat into the back.

And that’s how he found himself in the sudden embrace of the leader of the robbers, a knife pressed to his throat. “Y’know, I changed my mind,” the human said with a grin. “I think we’ll take the money, too. And the horses. And your wagon. And your gun. And I always wanted a rainproof robe.”

The human beside her whimpered suddenly, and Zana spun around, alarmed, and put a hand on Peet’s wrist. A thin red line was trickling over the blade of his knife and into the collar of the man’s dirty shirt. “Peet, _don’t,”_ she whispered urgently.

He ignored her. “My friend’s gun is still pointed at your head, bud. Think you’re faster than a bullet?”

The human laughed, a wild, slightly hysterical sound. “Wanna risk your master’s neck? Try me!”

“A bullet travels at roughly a thousand feet per second,” Alan’s deep, calm voice sounded from the back. “A second is a blink of an eye. I really doubt that you’d be able to slit your hostage’s throat before my bullet whips through your skull. Especially since you don’t know when I’ll fire. I could pull the trigger mid-sentence, and you’d never even hear the crack.”

There was a pause, as everyone considered Alan’s words.

“You’re still alive because I don’t want to kill any of you, if I can avoid it,” Alan spoke up again. “But we’re at an impasse again, and I won’t let you abuse the generosity of the lady on the passenger seat a second time. I’m going to offer you a deal, and you will accept it. Is that understood?”

The leader shifted on his feet, his fingers flexing over the hilt of his knife, and all Zana could think of as she held Galen’s panicked stare was _I should’ve reacted better to his dinner invitation. More enthusiastic._

This couldn’t have been their last conversation. It just... couldn’t. Because there was so much they had still to discuss, and, and-

The older man - the one whose children had been sold off to other masters - walked up to the youth and murmured something in his ear. The human didn’t react, and the older man began again, his tone more urgent this time.

“State your deal,” the human finally said.

“No,” Alan said firmly. “Swear that you’ll accept the deal, then I’ll state my conditions. I assure you that you won’t come out badly.”

“As if the word of that trash is worth anything,” Peet muttered.

“Alright, you have my word,” the youth was saying, but a slight smile was still on his lips that made Zana agree with Peet’s assessment.

“You’ll get our money, and your man back,” Alan said. “We get our man back, and keep everything else. You can buy anything you need with that money, which will be a lot more than what you could take from us now, nobody gets killed, and we go our separate ways.”

There was a long, long silence, only deepened by the soft swishing sound of rain. “Galen, or the money,” Peet muttered, so softly that Zana almost didn’t catch it. ”Decisions, decisions... got a coin to flip, Al?”

She resolved to scold him later for that.

“How much money?” the human finally asked.

“More than enough,” Alan said, and there was a finality in his voice that made Zana’s fur bristle.

The human seemed to have caught it, too. “Sounds fine to me,” he said. “Bring it out.”

“Tell your man to step back,” Alan ordered, and the older man hastily retreated to where the rest of the archers were waiting.

“Zana,” Alan said quietly, “come back here and get the money, and throw it from the wagon, on the passenger side. Don’t climb down yourself.”

She obeyed, too tense to bicker with Alan about the foolishness of men and the prudence of women, and retreated back under the tarp immediately after she had dropped the heavy leather pouch. She tried not to feel too devastated about the loss - yes, it had been all of their money, their funds for building a new existence north of these mountains… except for the few _sembles_ each of them had sewn into their robes. But surely, Galen’s life was more important.

She couldn’t see what was happening outside anymore - the narrow gap between the panels of tarpaulin that Alan had turned into some sort of loophole for his gun was too narrow to allow her to sneak a peek - but she could see Peet and his human very slowly climb down on the passenger side of the wagon, on the far side to where Galen and the robbers’ leader were waiting. “Better don’t stumble on the way down, buddy,” Peet said cheerfully to the other man; he had grabbed his hair with one hand and was still somehow keeping the knife at his throat with the other.

There was some shuffling and murmurs outside, and then Galen climbed back onto the bench, followed by Peet, who swiftly unwrapped the lines and loosened the brakes. He smacked the lines onto the horses’ backs and shouted, “Go, go!” - Peet wasn’t the most refined coach driver - and Zana steadied herself against the side boards as the horses fell into a hasty trot.

When she finally dared to crawl to the tail board, and peered outside, the humans were gone; melted back into the fog and rain.

Just like the money.

For a while, nobody said anything. Alan had taken up position at the tail end of the wagon, guarding their rear with his gun. Peet had surrendered the reins to Galen a while ago, and was now fidgeting on the passenger’s seat.

“Wish I had a gun, too, to guard the sides of the road,” he muttered, “Galen, we need a second gun. Or maybe even three more guns... one for each of us. I bet that wasn’t the last time we’ll meet this kind of scum.”

“Of course I’ll buy you a gun,” Galen said bitterly, ”and a typewriter for Zana, and an auriscope for myself... anyone else have a wish that I’ll fulfil with our imaginary money?”

“You should’ve given me that coin to flip, Al,” Peet snarled. “In case you’ve forgotten, _master,_ that was _my_ money, which just saved _your_ neck!”

“And I’m grateful!” Galen snapped back. “I’m grateful! But now we’re as poor as street cats again, which means I can’t buy you that gun, as much as I’d like to! And it also means that we’ll have to accept the cheapest inn in town, and, and...” He fell silent for a moment.

 _... and now you can’t ask me out for a date,_ Zana silently completed the sentence for him, and felt her annoyance melt a tiny bit.

”... and I’ll have to hire you out again,” Galen finally continued. “I had thought it wouldn’t be necessary anymore. That we could cross the passes before the winter rains make that impossible...”

“No point crying over spilled milk,” Peet said curtly. “We just gotta make sure it won’t happen again. Which means that the first thing we buy from the new money is guns and ammo.”

Galen said nothing to that, just pulled the hood of his robe over his head again.

Zana stared into the rapidly darkening fog and fervently wished for a hot tea in a warm, dry inn.

* * *

When they finally rolled into town, the apes had already lit the lanterns in their doorways. It was after noon, but whether it was early or late afternoon, Virdon couldn’t say - the fog was even thicker here in the valley, making it impossible to estimate the time.

Etissa sported a wooden stockade - something Virdon hadn’t seen since Pendan. Back then, he had been too distracted by the pain in his leg to wonder about the necessity of fortification for that town, but after their encounter with the bandits, it was clear why the townspeople _here_ were guarding their gates. He had stowed away Betsy as soon as Galen had slowed the wagon, not sure how the guard would react to an armed human, and was now crouching behind the driver’s bench to listen in to the conversation.

“We were held up on the road,” Galen was saying. “In broad daylight! Don’t you have a mountain guard?”

“The mountains aren’t an easy area to control,” the guard said evenly. “Lots of small valleys for them buggers to retreat into. We can’t hold every traveler’s hand - out here, you’re expected to take care of yourself. They let you off easy,” he added, nodding meaningfully at the wagon.

“They took all our money,” Galen snapped. “I wouldn’t call that ‘easy’! And I want that money back! Where’s your watch house? I want to press charges!”

The guard opened his mouth, then hesitated, apparently thinking better of what he had actually been going to say, and just gave him directions. “Enjoy your stay,” he added, a bit sardonically, as Galen flicked the lines.

“Face it, Galen,” Burke said as they were slowly rolling through the gate, “we won’t see my money again. I ripped my heart out for nothing.” He didn’t sound very concerned.

“I’m sorry,” Virdon said, feeling guilty all the same. “But I had to offer the man something so he could keep face. And I thought that the wagon and the horses, and all our possessions, would be more difficult to replace than money...”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Burke said. He had slung his blanket over his shoulders like a poncho again, and was nibbling at some dried fruit. “It hurts him more than me.” He nodded at Galen, who had retreated into grim silence again. Virdon suspected that Galen’s obvious displeasure sweetened the loss for Burke, and ruefully shook his head. Team morale had been bad ever since Zana had been wounded.

The houses were only vague shadows behind the billowing wall of fog, but as far as Virdon could see, they were again built in the human style, their doors at ground level. It was probably owed to the rebellion from fifteen years ago - Zana had told him that a lot of ape settlements had been destroyed by humans simply starting forest fires a safe distance away. A town at ground level, with a stockade and a wide area cleared of scrubs and trees around it, was more easily defensible.

Still, this town made him uneasy for some reason. He couldn’t put a finger on it - maybe it was just because the fog made it impossible to get an impression of the town’s size and layout. It made him feel disoriented, and a tiny bit claustrophobic.

Galen seemed to be just as lost; they had to stop several times to ask for the way to the watch house, until the fog finally parted its veils before the black-and-green flag of the simian police.

“I gotta say you’ve got some nerve to waltz up an’ complain to the cops who should actually arrest you,” Burke remarked as Galen slung the lines over the rein hitch. “Suppose they have your wanted poster hanging in their cafeteria?”

“Considering their track record with the local criminals, I’m quite confident they won’t suddenly care about people the _City_ wants arrested,” Galen huffed. “We’re already in the borderlands - people here are proud of not caring about the demands of the bigwigs from the South.”

“Hope you’re right,” Burke muttered, but he didn’t sound convinced.

Galen had already climbed halfway down, when he suddenly returned to poke his head into the wagon. “Speaking of borderlands...” he said, “Peet, I want you to go with Zana while she finds an inn for us. As that ‘guard’ had pointed out to me, people are responsible for their own safety here, which makes me wonder what they need the town guard for. Decoration?”

“Taking travelers’ complaints, I guess,” Burke joked, as he crawled forward to take Galen’s place on the driver’s seat.

“Alan, you’re with me,” Galen said. “The sooner I find work for you two, the sooner we can leave. I don’t like this town.”

“How are you going to find the inn I’ll choose?” Zana asked.

“Either send Peet back here, or I’ll just ask the guards where to find the cheapest inn in town,” Galen said darkly. “It’s not as if we have a lot of options left.” With that, he jumped from the wagon.

Virdon slowly climbed out of the back. His leg was blessedly silent lately, thanks to Burke’s Tai Chi lessons that he insisted on in every weather, but Virdon didn’t want to test his luck.

Their stay in the gloriously heated watch house was a predictably quick and unproductive affair. The guard listened patiently to Galen’s report, registered his complaint, and sent them away with the vague assurance that the watch would ‘look into the matter’. Virdon wisely kept his thoughts about that to himself; a look into Galen’s face told him that the ape was aware that the chances of seeing their money again were close to zero. Still, Virdon could understand that Galen had felt compelled to at least make that gesture.

“I _am_ sorry about the money,” was all he said when they stepped outside.

Galen waved his apology away. “As Peet had said, it’s no use crying over rotten fruit. We need to find a job for you... fortunately, your talents are a bit more versatile than Peet’s.”

The watch house overlooked the market square, which was roofed over and should’ve more accurately been called a market hall. While the roof provided protection against the rain, the construction didn’t have walls, so the fog was rolling between the stalls as thickly as in the rest of town. There were only a few customers milling about, and the platform where apes offered their own or their humans’ services was completely deserted.

“It looks as if business has already closed down for the day,” Virdon remarked, careful not to let his relief show too much. These platforms always unnerved him; they not only reminded him of slave markets, they were actually used to sell humans - not just to hire them out.

“Well, I can at least put up a notice at the advertisement board,” Galen said. “Maybe an interested customer will turn up tomorrow then.” He walked behind the platform, where scraps of scrolls were pinned to a big wooden board, and took another scrap of paper from a box that had been nailed to said board.

“Are you looking for work, good man?”

Virdon turned around at the sound of that new voice. The newcomer was a burly chimpanzee, almost as tall as Virdon, which was rare; he was smiling at Galen, but his eyes were flicking glances at him, and Virdon felt his spine stiffen a bit in response. He was better at shrugging off the apes’ calculating glances than Burke, but this fellow’s eyes held a glint that made him wary.

For the first time since their crash, he missed the reassuring feel of a gun in his hands.

“Well _actually_ I’m looking for work for him,” Galen said. He had tucked his note away and came to Virdon’s side.

“Ah,” the chimpanzee said and, having Galen’s permission now, gave Virdon an unabashed once-over.

Virdon successfully fought the urge to turn on his axis to keep the ape in his sights as the he was slowly circling him, but couldn’t help flinching when the chimp’s hands brushed all over his body.

“He’s a bit old,” the ape said. “What kind of work did you have in mind for him?”

“Ah, ah, he’s good with his hands,” Galen said. “Basket weaving, leatherwork... he’s very versatile. And talented.”

“Well.” The ape had completed his round and was now smiling down at Galen. “I can always use a human with... diverse talents. But for my purposes, he won’t need his hands.”

Galen looked nonplussed. “He doesn’t? What do you need him for?”

The chimp lazily waved a hand. “I’m a man with many business connections, and you know how it is - you need to keep your customers entertained. He just needs to look pretty, and with the color of his hair and eyes, he’ll be the absolute star on my estate.”

“I see...” Galen still seemed to have his doubts, and Virdon prayed that some of his own, grave doubts were somehow transmitted to the ape’s brain.

The other ape started, the smile on his face broadening until the whole man was oozing joviality. “Forgive my manners, I was just dazzled by your human’s exotic looks. My name is Ramor; I’m a trader, but my home base is here. I was just about to hibernate, and let parties be parties, my wimminfolk be damned, but you know how it is - in the end, we always give in to the ladies. I’d pay you handsomely if you’d let me have him for a few days.”

“How much?” Galen asked, and when the trader named his offer, Virdon knew that the deal was done. The apes put their fists together - their version of a handshake, Virdon assumed - and Ramor began to count the small white squares that they were using for money into Galen’s purse.

It was a lot of squares.

Virdon only had a quick moment as Galen passed him to voice his concern. “Don’t you think that the sum he paid is a bit suspicious?” he whispered. “So much money for me _doing_ _nothing?”_

“No,” Galen said, unconcerned. “I think the sum is very fortuitous! It’s almost a third of the money we lost to those robbers. If I can find a similar deal for Peet, we’re almost in the clear. Don’t worry,” he added, and patted Virdon’s arm. “I know these kinds of parties from the City. Some apes are collectors, and they love to put their collections on display. For some it’s exotic plants, and for others, it’s exotic looking humans. After half an _atseht_ of gawking, the guests will stop even seeing you. They’ll all be too busy scheming among themselves, and you’ll be just part of the background decoration. It’s easy money for you, too - much better than sewing leather all day.”

And with those encouraging words, he left. Virdon watched him quickly stride down the central corridor of the market hall as Ramor’s hand closed around his bicep.

“Come, my pretty,” Ramor purred into his ear. “Let’s get to work.”


	3. Chapter 3

This part of town spelled trouble, Burke knew it at first glance. The fog was covering up most of the scenery, but even so he could see that the huts here were barely better built than the loam huts in that fever-stricken village back in the southern swamps. Some apes had ditched the human-style mudholes altogether and had returned to nests made from twigs and leaves; Burke wondered how they would get over the winter. Others had been more inventive and built some sort of wicker-basket tents, but Burke doubted that these constructions would protect them any better against the winter storms. The inhabitants of this quarter might be apes, but they were just as wretched as the highwaymen they had run into earlier.

People were openly staring at them, their expressions ranging from curiosity, to hostility, to sly calculation. He had sent Zana into the back of the wagon to get him Betsy, and had given her the reins when she returned. Now he was riding shotgun, in the literal sense of the word, and wished the damn fog would lift so he’d see who he was gonna shoot. Scores of ape children had been crowding their wagon for a while, begging or trying to climb into the wagon. Burke had fired one shot into the air, and they had scuttled away. “What?” Burke said when Zana glared at him. “Those little monkeys would’ve cleared out our stuff faster than you could’ve said ‘Merciful Mothers’!”

“I don’t know if this is the right quarter to look for an inn, if you need to wave your gun around,” Zana murmured. Burke could tell that she was nervous. Well, until now the apes had managed to find lodgings in the civilized parts of whichever town they were forced to stop; and considering her upbringing, it was unlikely that she had ever set foot into the shady parts of the City... or any other town.

“But I’m smiling while I wave it,” he said, and flashed her a grin. “Face it, Zana, with our last pathetic chips we can’t buy ourselves a nice one this time. But no worries.” He patted Betsy. “I know my way around in this kind of neighbourhood. Lived in one like this long enough.” Granted, it hadn’t been _quite_ as run-down as this one...

For some reason, Zana didn’t look reassured.

They continued down some more crooked and fog-filled alleys, Zana straining her eyes for an inn sign, Burke straining his to catch anyone creeping up on them to rob them again. This time, there would be no negotiations. He didn’t have Al’s talent for it, anyway.

“Well, what do you say?” Zana said finally and pointed ahead. “Should we try this one?”

Burke squinted at the dripping sign that sported something that looked like an ape with horns. He could swear the thing was leering at him. “What’s it say underneath?” He had never bothered to learn the apes’ script.

Zana craned her neck. “The Tipsy Goat,” she read, and cleared her throat. “I mean... I know it’s not the most respectable inn in town... it can’t be, in this neighbourhood...”

Burke couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, don’t be too surprised if they have some, uh, dancers working there, too. But hey, the ladies are usually real nice if you don’t look down your nose at ‘em. You need to go in and ask for rooms,” he added, when Zana made no sign to move from her seat. “I gotta keep watch here, or we won’t have a wagon to come back to.”

Zana stared straight ahead for another moment; then she drew a sharp breath, gathered her robe, and carefully climbed down from the wagon. “Come looking for me if I haven’t returned at the count of one hundred,” she said dryly, and strode towards the inn. Burke watched her push open the door with a bit more force than necessary, before he returned his attention back to the street.

She came back at the count of seventy-eight, her face a mixture of consternation and the kind of hysterical amusement that was the last resort of people who couldn’t afford to rage and scream.

“We have rooms,” she said. “That is, we have one room - I’m afraid you’ll have to share with me and Galen, and Alan, of course...”

“I don’t mind sharing a room with you, or Al,” Burke said. “Listen, I’ll find a stable in a part of this town that will leave the wagon in one piece overnight... and the horses, too. I’ll be back in no time. Just get your and Galen’s things, I’ll get ours.” A stable wouldn’t be as expensive as a tavern, and if he’d been alone, he’d just have slept in the horses’ box, but of course Galen wouldn’t allow that for himself and Zana.

She didn’t look very happy at that, but then nobody had been really happy since they had been relieved of all their money. _His_ money. Damn. Burke hesitated for a moment, then pushed Betsy into her hands. “I know you don’t like to wave a gun around,” he joked, “but as long as the gents here think you’re a trigger-happy baboon, they’ll give you a wide berth.”

Zana looked even less happy at that suggestion, but she took the gun. Burke watched her vanish into the inn, then went to find a nice, cozy stable for Tala and Apache.

The fog had gotten even thicker when he returned to the Tipsy Goat - a perfect cover for anyone trying to get a jump on him, so he was walking more slowly now, all senses strained for traitorous sounds, or sudden movements, or the tingling sensation in his neck that announced the presence of someone out to get him. Burke felt that with his ANSA knife, he had a reasonable chance to shank any monkey trying to jump him, but he preferred not to make waves in this town. In and out, quickly and quietly, that was how they should operate here. Of course, now he only had to convince Galen that Etissa was not the kind of town where you wanted to stay for weeks to hire out your humans...

A muffled scream and jerking shadows in the fog before him alerted him to a fight right in front of the Tipsy Goat. Burke bit back an annoyed groan. Of course some drunkards had to block the door to his...

Another cry, and Burke started; that was Zana’s voice!

_What the hell is she doing outside?_

He crossed the distance with what felt like a single jump, and rammed the knife into the back of the attacker who had taken Zana into a chokehold. The ape crumpled to the ground without a sound; Burke hoped that apes had their kidneys in the same place as humans. Then he stepped between Zana and the rest of the monkeys. Two others, chimps, shifting on their feet like bushcats preparing to jump. Apes did have the talent for 3D fighting; good thing he had flown some space combat simulations in his time, in preparation for potential encounters with Chinese vessels trying to stake claims on Moon or Mars...

But those two thugs lacked the imagination for jumping up to the gutter of the Tipsy Goat and then attacking from above; they were tackling him head-on, and Burke ducked and sidestepped the first one, burying his knife in the ape’s chest, but missing the liver; the second one had rounded in on him in the meantime, grabbing for his wrist and trying to wrest the knife from his hand. Burke stabbed the fingers of his left hand into his eyes and kicked the inside of his knee joint, but the satisfying crack didn’t come; ape skeletons were a lot sturdier than humans’.

Burke fell back two or three steps to regroup; he was dimly aware of a crowd gathering around them, watching the fight, and suddenly remembered what it meant for a human to attack an ape - no matter the reason.

The apes pounced, sensing his sudden hesitation, and then there was no time to worry about ape laws anymore. He couldn’t hope to wrestle with an ape, or take a blow; no human was a match against simian strength. His only chance was to be faster than the apes, fast as a viper, and just as deadly.

When he returned to normal consciousness again, he realized that he was staring at three dead apes at his feet.

And that the sound of the crowd around him was that of cheering. Burke blinked and looked up. The onlookers were already dispersing; here and there, white squares changed hands. Zana was standing next to the door of the Tipsy Goat, one hand pressed to her heart, and staring at him with wide eyes.

When she saw that he was looking at her, she hurried over to him. “Peet! Merciful Mothers, are you hurt?”

“Don’t think so,” Burke said slowly, then grabbed her arm. “Zana, what the hell were you doin’ outside? You _know_ this place ain’t safe!”

“I, I’m sorry,” Zana stuttered. ”I wanted to make some tea, and I discovered that I had forgotten to take the box with tea leaves with me, and when I went down to the, the... bar, they said they don’t sell tea here, but there is a little shop down the street...”

“Jesus!” Screw those apes and their damn tea addiction! Burke turned Zana around and led her back to the inn. “Write me a list, an’ I’ll go and get everything you forgot, but for the love of your Mothers, stay inside unless either I, or Al, or Betsy is with you, okay?”

“Galen can fight with a knife, too,” Zana said, a bit indignant, as they entered their room. This inn obviously didn’t cater to humans - or apes with human servants - as it didn’t even have proper stairs; instead, they had to climb up a pole with handles sticking out from it. Burke had seen that construction only once, in the house of an ape guard. At least he didn’t have to haul up Zana’s trunk this time.

“My point is,” he said, “these monkeys are only waiting to rob a rich lady, an’ make no mistake, Zana, compared to them, you _are_ a rich lady. They’ll tear you apart like a pack of hyenas.”

Zana wandered over to where she had spread out her bedroll - Burke glanced at the heap of old blankets on a rickety bed frame that looked as if they hadn’t been changed for the last five guests, and silently agreed with her decision - and slumped down on it.

“I hate it here,” she said morosely. “It’s loud, and dirty, and _cold -_ Galen had promised me a warm, dry room...”

Burke sat down beside her and put a consoling arm around her shoulders. “It’ll get better,” he said, “trust me. Al an’ I will earn some money, an’ we’ll be out of this stinkin’ hole in no time.”

Zana smiled and patted his hand. “And I’ll have one more story to tell to... other people’s grandchildren.”

Burke didn’t know what to say. The way that sentence had come out, she hadn’t intended to aim a blow at him - she had just remembered that she’d never have grandchildren of her own when it had already been halfway out of her mouth. So he just squeezed her shoulder a bit.

They sat there, listening to the noise filtering up from below - the shouts and laughter, and the occasional crashing and thumping - while the light slowly faded from the room.

* * *

When Galen finally turned up, Zana was more than grateful for the dim lighting. The longer she had stared at the shabby walls, the more embarrassed she had felt for choosing this hole as their domicile. It was true that with the few _sembles_ they had left, they could count themselves lucky that they didn’t have to sleep in the streets. Yet seeing Galen standing in the middle of the room now, hands propped on his hips, and surveying the dirty floors and even dirtier bedsheets, she couldn’t help but apologize.

Galen waved her apology away. “You found the best option available, under the circumstances,” he said. “But I have good news - I was able to hire out Alan...”

“Thought so when he didn’t come back with you,” Peet muttered beside her. Galen ignored him.

”... _and_ I was paid in advance.” He rubbed his hands. “Which means we’ll pack up here and find ourselves better lodgings. You’ll get that nice, dry bed, and the armchair beside the fire, just as I promised you!”

“Paid in advance, huh?” Peet said as he rolled up her blankets, while she was putting on her damp robe again. “What kind of job did you find that pays in advance?”

“Party decoration,” Galen said breezily. “A rich trader needed exotic looking humans to spice up the winter balls he’s throwing for his wife and daughters - and his business partners and _their_ wives and daughters - and humans with that eye and hair color...”

”... are rare flowers, I know,” Peet interrupted him. “Aren’t you afraid that he’ll get so enamoured with our blond beauty that he’ll refuse to give him back?”

Galen frowned. “No...”

“Do you have a written contract?” Peet pressed on.

“A word still counts among businessmen,” Galen said indignantly. “Even in these backwards parts. Maybe it counts even more here, than back in the City.”

Peet just exchanged a dark look with her; Zana couldn’t help but shudder when she remembered the mugging she had barely escaped, thanks to him. Well, maybe things would be better now, in a better part of this town.

The inn Galen had chosen for them _was_ nice - a sturdy little house with just four rooms on the upper floor, two of them already rented out. Galen, feeling generous - or frisky, Zana thought with a slight frown - had rented the other two rooms, so that the humans had a room for themselves, and he and Zana would have some privacy.

“And I found a nice little tavern down the street,” he added while he set a kettle with water on the stovetop. Zana had insisted on tea - she felt as if she was as cold and clammy on the inside of her skin as on the outside. “We could have dinner there. It’s really nice, the guest room is decorated with lots of vines, and even living trees. The host said he designed it with a jungle theme in mind...”

His voice trailed off; apparently he had become aware that he had been babbling. Zana pulled her damp, clingy robe over her head with a groan, secretly glad that it gave her another moment to consider Galen’s idea.

If she was honest with herself, she didn’t really feel like going out. She was cold and still somewhat damp, and as soon as she’d sit down and have that promised cup of tea, she’d feel dead tired.

“Alright,” she said with a sigh. They did need to eat something, and having something other than dried meat and dried fruits would be nice...

“I’m just dead tired, dear,” she said when she turned around and saw the expression on his face. “It’s a lovely idea, but please don’t hold it against me when I call it an early night.”

“No, no of course not,” Galen said quickly. “It was a really _eventful_ day. You drink that tea... oh.” He peered inside the box. “You’re lucky, Zana - it’s just about enough for one more pot. You’ve been drinking a lot of it lately.”

It was true, Zana admitted to herself while she watched Galen pour the last tea leaves into the teapot. With the constant rains, the air had cooled off considerably, and they were traveling in higher altitudes now, too - a cup of hot tea had been in her hands all the time for some weeks now, filling her with at least a little warmth.

“I’ll send Peet to the market to buy some tea for breakfast tomorrow,” Galen said, “and something to eat for himself, and then we’re good to go.”

“Isn’t it a bit late in the day for that? He can as well buy the tea by tomorrow morning,” Zana called after him, but he had already vanished into the corridor.

The thought of Peet wandering through the darkening alleys of this town all by himself haunted her all the way to the tavern, and didn’t leave her even when the waiter had already brought their wine.

“If anyone can safely walk these streets after dark, it’s Peet,” Galen said consolingly. “He has his knife and besides, the market isn’t very far away, just farther down this street. He should already be back in his room by now.”

Zana smiled, and told herself that they were out of the bad part of this town, after all, and that Galen deserved to have her full attention, and took a deep draw from her wine.

“This _is_ nice,” she said, when she had put down her glass again, and let her gaze wander over the multitude of plants that had been stacked against the walls so that they completely covered them. As Galen had promised, several big, potted plants gave the illusion of jungle undergrowth, and two massive tree trunks had been installed near the center of the guest room, reaching from floor to ceiling. Living vines were creeping up on them, and were then spread along the ceiling - maybe along thin ropes. Somewhere in the distance, water was gurgling.

“It just lacks some exotic birds and butterflies to make the illusion complete,” Galen nodded. “But I suppose they didn’t want to risk bird droppings on the tables.”

“Or on the plates,” Zana added, and Galen laughed.

“No, I think that would be bad for business,” he admitted. He propped his elbows on the table and folded his hands. “I’m glad that you agreed to have dinner with me. I know you were pretty tired.”

“Well,” Zana said, and pushed the wine glass away, so that she could lean on the table herself, “I thought I shouldn’t shoot down your first attempt at courting me after we left the City.”

Galen winced a bit at that. “I’m sorry. But with Urko always on our tail, and then Peet’s imprisonment, and Alan being shot, and, and... we’ve been stumbling from one crisis into the next, ever since we left there...”

“I know.” She reached for the wineglass again, to give her hands something to do. “But there must be more than fear of death to keep us together, Galen. More than Urko.”

“I know.”

Silence descended between them, and to her horror, Zana found that she couldn’t think of anything to say to fill it. Whatever topic crossed her mind - whether Peet had returned to their inn by now, how Alan was faring at his new workplace, Nelva... had he already reached Sapan? Had he recognized them on one of the champions’ photos? Had he alerted Urko? Where was Urko now? - she discarded as yet another example of their overwhelming preoccupation with survival. Of course they had to care about their survival, but right now, she desperately wanted to talk about something else. Anything else.

“So,” she said brightly. “What did you like better? Studying medicine, or the law?”

Galen blinked, but recovered quickly. “Oh, ah, the law. Working as a lawyer is a lot less stressful than working as a doctor. No emergency calls, for one thing. And if you can secure a nice administrative position in one of the surrounding prefectures, you also don’t have to sacrifice nights for pouring over scrolls in a last desperate attempt to salvage a lost cause.”

He took a sip from his wine. “Of course, that’s how I look at it with hindsight. Back then, I found it boring, but it didn’t require much effort, so I had more time to brood about my failed relationship with Kira.”

“What an irony that your best cover has been doctor Kova,” Zana remarked.

Galen laughed, sounding a bit strained. “I’m afraid he’ll stay with me for the rest of my hopefully long and uneventful life. I had planned to open a veterinary practice, once we find a place where we can settle down for good.”

“If that will ever be an option,” Zana murmured.

Galen leaned across the table to clasp her hand. “It is, Zana. I promise, we won’t be on the run forever. We’re already out of the City’s jurisdiction here, and once the mountains are between us and them...”

“I don’t think Urko cares much about such inconsequential constructions as ‘jurisdiction’,” Zana pointed out. “He’s obsessed with us, especially with the humans.”

Galen squeezed her hand. “Urko has more important things on his plate than hunting two stray humans and their misguided simian helpers,” he said with a wry smile. “Alan and Peet are more like a hobby for him. I doubt he wastes a single thought on us, as long as we don’t cross his line of sight.”

“I hope you’re right,” Zana said with a little sigh. “I’d really like to have a normal life again.”

The waiter arrived with their plates, and for a while, Zana focused on her steamed vegetables and the tender meat of the pigeon she had ordered. When she looked up from time to time, Galen was chewing thoughtfully, a distant look in his eyes. She fleetingly wondered what he was thinking about.

“Well, what plans do you have for that normal life of yours?” he asked when she had cleared her plate. “I mean,” he added hastily, “not that you’ll have to work - I’m sure I’ll earn enough for all of us - but I imagined you’d like to work again. You were very happy in your old workplace, at least that was my impression back then...”

For a moment, Zana was annoyed. So she _could_ work, if she _wanted_ to. Like a hobby, to pass her time. How generous!

Then she realized that Galen was worried that she could’ve misunderstood his first question - as if he had implied that having plans for her own life meant that they’d go their separate ways. Something that he very obviously didn’t want to happen.

“Yes, I was very happy at the institute,” she said. “But I doubt that they’ll have need of a behavioral analyst out here, much less for one who studies humans. They’re still regarded as nothing but working animals here.”

“True,” Galen admitted, and refilled their glasses. “But you’re a smart and talented woman, Zana. I’m sure you can find something else for work.”

Rogan had asked her - half in jest - if she didn’t want to join the watch. Zana had refused, not just because that would’ve made her, however distantly, a subordinate of the Chief General of the simian police force. She could appreciate the irony, but only in theory.

And working as a reporter, like Felga had done? Ugar had told her she did have what it took to be one - but the weeks of investigating Felga’s murder case had convinced Zana that in the long run, she wasn’t cut out for digging through other people’s private lives. It was exhausting; and in the end, she had drawn all the wrong conclusions from the clues she had uncovered.

If she was completely honest with herself, she had fantasized about raising her child ever since she had realized that she was pregnant. She had harboured no illusions about being able to work in her old profession, as she had just told Galen, and being a mother… teaching this one, precious child, had seemed so fulfilling. All those days of laughter and learning…

She swallowed a mouthful of wine, trying to wash away the bitter taste on her tongue.

“I’d love to run a shelter, like Felga did,” she said finally. “But that won’t pay money, and even if you’ll earn enough for the two of us, that’s not what I... I’d still like to earn money with what I’m doing, too.”

“You’ll think of something,” Galen said. “And there’s still plenty of time. We still have to cross the higher passes.”

“We can’t stay here for long,” Zana said, feeling the old unrest shiver in her bones again. “The weather is already awful, but it’ll get even worse, and once the landslides start, all passes will be closed. How long have you hired out Alan?”

“Just for five days,” Galen said. He leaned over the table and let his voice drop to a whisper. “But Ramor paid me a thousand _sembles_ per day, in advance! It’s not enough to buy a house yet, but it’s an excellent start. Tomorrow, I’ll go buy those guns and ammunition, like Peet had suggested, and then nobody will take that money away from us again.”

Zana frowned. Five thousand _sembles,_ just for playing ‘party decoration’, as Galen had called it? Either Ramor was so stinking rich that he considered that sum small nuts, or...

... or what? She couldn’t put her finger on what sounded wrong about that deal, but she fervently wished for the five days to be already over, and all of them being together again.

And then they would leave this town as quickly as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

When Galen opened his eyes the next morning, the air outside the windowpane was a solid white wall. The fog had thickened again overnight; when he stepped to the window, he could barely see the house on the other side of the street.

“Galen?” Zana poked her head into the room. “I can’t find the tea that Peet was supposed to buy... and I can’t find Peet, either.”

“Hmm?” Galen kept staring at the fog, wondering how long this weather would persist. Well, it probably was better than constant rain; fog didn’t cause landslides...

“I’m not sure he even came home, Galen.” Zana’s tone became more urgent. “His bed doesn’t look as if he’d slept in it, and his backpack hasn’t been opened.”

Galen sighed and turned away from the window. “Peet has trouble sleeping. And maybe the stalls had already closed, and he went out again this morning to buy our tea.”

“Well, I want you to go to the market now.” Zana’s voice was stern. “Then you two can bring home that tea together.”

Galen opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. The previous evening had gone really well, without any arguments, or tense silences, and he didn’t want to spoil his luck.

The way to the market was short, just as he had told Zana, and if Peet had indeed gone there, he should’ve met him on his way back; but Galen didn’t see the human anywhere, and when he asked around in the market hall, none of the vendors had seen him, either.

Galen tried not to make too much of it; for most apes, one human looked pretty much like the other, unless they had an unusual color. If Peet hadn’t displayed his trademark rebelliousness, they probably hadn’t even looked up to consciously notice him. He and Peet must’ve missed each other, or maybe Peet had taken a different way back to the inn - maybe he had looked after the horses first...

But Peet hadn’t come back yet when Galen returned to the inn. By then, Zana was pacing the room like a caged bushcat.

“Something happened to him,” she said. “Someone did something bad to him... oh Mothers!” She stopped all of a sudden, fists clenched. “Do you think he was caught by bounty hunters again?”

Galen felt his heart drop into his stomach like an icy stone. Grabbed by bounty hunters... brought back to Urko... if Peet had been caught by them the previous evening, they would already be miles away, headed back to the City.

“He won’t survive it this time,” Zana said with tears in her eyes. “Not even if we manage to find him again.” She turned away, rubbing her eyes.

Galen took a deep breath. This couldn’t be - this couldn’t have happened. It just... couldn’t. “I don’t think that is what happened,” he said, straining to keep his voice calm and even. “This region is already too far outside the City’s reach...”

“Bounty hunters don’t care about jurisdiction,” Zana snapped. “They only care about the money!”

“But I haven’t seen any wanted posters anywhere for weeks now!” Galen argued. “Nobody here is even looking for us!”

“What about Olman?” Zana was pacing again. “He suspected that we’re not who we pretended to be, and he has connections...”

“Olman had more pressing problems to deal with than our false identities when we left,” Galen pointed out. “No, I think that if someone took Peet, it was local criminals. This region isn’t exactly law-abiding.”

“You can’t know that,” Zana moaned. “And if we ignore the possibility that it  _ was  _ bounty hunters, they could be halfway to the City while we’re still searching the gutters here!”

“Well, there is a way to exclude the bounty hunters,” Galen said grimly. “It just could cost us our necks, too.”

Zana stopped her pacing and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Bounty hunters are required by law to notify the nearest watch of their catch. If I go to the watch and report that my human is missing, and they did catch Peet, the guards would already know... and then arrest me, too.”

If Peet had been caught by them, and had told the watch that he hadn’t been traveling with him and Zana anymore, chances were that the watch wouldn’t come crashing through the door any moment now. While Galen didn’t think Peet would’ve lied for his sake, there was no doubt that the human would lie to protect Zana. Going down to the watch house and asking for him now would negate that sacrifice, without helping Peet in the slightest.

But there was no way Zana would ever accept that. And if he was honest to himself, Galen knew that he couldn’t just leave Peet to his fate, and live with the uncertainty of what had happened to him. It would be dishonorable, and despite Peet’s insufferable contrariness, Galen had come to... to find him fascinating and sometimes even entertaining...

“I’ll go and ask,” he said. “If they do arrest me, I’ll tell them that we went our separate ways after Pendan, and that ‘Alta’ was another woman I met on the road. They won’t believe me, but they’ll be bound to investigate my claims first, and that will buy you time.” He unfastened the money pouch from his belt and put it on the table. “If I’m not back by noon, take the wagon and Betsy and leave as fast as you can. Find a safe place to settle down somewhere in the North.”

Zana stared at the leather pouch, then at him. “What about Alan?”

Galen thought quickly. “I, I’ll tell them I sold him off because he was crippled,” he said. “If you dare, come back after the five days are over and take him back from Ramor. We agreed to meet again at the announcement board in the market hall.”

He half hoped that she would tell him not to go, but Zana made two hasty steps towards him, and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Galen. Thank you for not giving up on him. This is the bravest and noblest thing you’ve ever done, and I’m so proud of you!”

Galen smiled sadly, and patted her awkwardly on the back. He didn’t feel brave, and he was a bit disappointed that she hadn’t said that she loved him. Well, maybe she would say it, one day.

If he survived this one in the first place.

* * *

Galen had barely closed the door when Zana took up her pacing again. She was shivering with tension, her fur straining against the heavy robe until she was ready to throw it off and jump howling from bed to table, and up the walls.

What if Galen didn’t come back? What if he did? She couldn’t say which would be worse. If Galen came back, it meant that bounty hunters hadn’t captured Peet - someone in Etissa had him now, and was doing unspeakable things to him. 

And if Galen didn’t come back, she would have to run - and considering that he had pestered the watch with his complaint about the human robbers the other day, chances were high that the officers remembered the light-colored human he had with him. It would be difficult to get Alan back - and waiting for Alan meant that Peet’s captors would have a head start of several days.

And Galen would be on his way to the City by then, too. Zana felt tears spring to her eyes as she contemplated their hopeless situation. She  _ had _ to wait for Alan; she couldn’t abandon him here, and besides, she didn’t stand a chance to save either Galen nor Peet without him. It would be even more difficult this time - Urko wouldn’t waste time with interrogations. He’d just kill Peet. And once Galen had vanished into the City’s prison, he would be forever out of their reach.

The Book! Zana stopped in her tracks, fur still tingling under the fabric. Galen hadn’t taken the Book with him, and he had told her to find a safe place north of the mountains. Had he meant for her to take it with her, to spread the copies of its content? She didn’t even know what was so scandalous about that content - she had never bothered to ask him, and right now, she cared even less. No book was worth dying for.

If they didn’t find the book on him, Zaius and Urko would interrogate Galen about its location. Zana staggered to the table and fell into a chair. She felt dizzy and nauseous all of a sudden. They would torture Galen... or maybe they’d torture Peet and have Galen watch...

She buried her face in her hands, trying to force the images from her mind. If Zaius thought that Galen had given the book to her, there wouldn’t be a safe place for her anywhere; he’d just send bounty hunters after her, apes who could go where Urko’s officers couldn’t. It would be a race between her copying the pages and sending them out to their contacts, and the hunters sniffing out every village in every valley, at every river, in every forest from here to the northern badlands. She would have no way to shake them off - not with the literal paper trail she’d be creating.

Just when she had resolved to offer Zaius a prisoner exchange - the Book for Peet and Galen, and a guaranteed amnesty if they stayed north of the mountains - the door opened, and Galen came in, looking at once relieved and outraged.

He had come back. The bounty hunters hadn’t taken Peet. Zana refused to believe that they simply hadn’t notified the watch. Peet was still here, in this town. They just had to find him.

She wanted to jump up and hug Galen, but now that the panic had rushed out of her, she felt weak and trembling, and a little ill. “What did they say?”

Galen glanced at her face, and went for the teapot. “That they will look into the matter.” He began to spoon tea leaves into the pot. “This police force isn’t worth the uniform they’re wearing. Normally, I’d welcome that, but in this case, I was hoping for a bit more dedication to their duty.”

“We don’t have time for drinking tea,” Zana said weakly. “Peet has been missing for almost a whole day now - I don’t want to imagine what they’re doing to him!”

“You look as if you’d faint any moment,” Galen said sternly. “Did you even have breakfast? And we need to come up with a, a battle plan, now that it’s clear we’re on our own.” He poured the boiling water over the leaves and carried the pot over to her.

“I don’t think they - whoever they are - are doing unspeakable things to Peet,” he said when he sat down beside her. “Let’s think logically about this. You said that humans are seen as working animals here. They are  _ investments.  _ A working human has a certain value - so either they are trying to sell him, or they plan on extorting money from us. But I think they’re trying to sell him at, at some kind of black market; if they had wanted money from us, we’d already have gotten notice.”

“They can sell him in the market place two towns over, and it’d be perfectly legal,” Zana said darkly. “He has no brand, and they can just burn his papers and claim that he’s a stray, like the robbers we met yesterday.”

“True,” Galen conceded. “But  _ I _ still have his papers, too, and his scars are as unique as any brand. But I’ll commission a ‘wanted’ ad in the local newspaper, too.” He thoughtfully sipped his tea.

“We need to search the town,” Zana said. “We need to start somewhere, and the route from here to the market is the logical choice. We start there, and then...” she made a circling motion with her arm, ”... extend our search into the side alleys, and so forth. Ask the residents if they have seen something. Put out a reward.”

If Galen felt pain at the thought of having to part with his lucky money so soon again, he wisely didn’t show it. Instead, he frowned and just said, “I don’t think we should dig too deeply into those side alleys, or  _ we  _ could vanish in there, too. This town has some very bad parts...”

“I doubt Peet would’ve vanished in the better parts of town,” Zana said dryly. “So maybe we should heed Peet’s advice and buy some weapons. I don’t like them, but it seems to be a language these baboons understand. And we need to start at the market anyway.” She pushed away from the table, suddenly eager to get moving again.

When they stepped out of the door of the inn, the fog hadn’t exactly lifted, but the hidden sun illuminated it from above, and it was as if they were stepping through panes of white sheets. The glare was surprisingly intense, and Zana felt her eyes beginning to water. It only got better once they stepped under the roof of the market hall that blocked the sunlight.

At any other time, Zana would’ve loved to wander between the stalls and admire the displays. Today, though, she ushered Galen to a bookstand where they bought two maps of the town, and then to a weapons dealer, who cast a measuring glance at her and then presented her with a curious, tiny gun - a ‘hand gun’, as he called it. “Perfect to hide under your robe, ma’am,” he explained. “You don’t want to tip off them baboons that you have teeth.”

He showed her various leather contrapments to strap the thing to her body - even one that would wrap around her thigh. Zana didn’t feel comfortable at the thought of having such a deadly machine that close to her body, but could see the wisdom of not showing her hand prematurely.

In the end, Galen bought three regular guns, four ‘hand-guns’, and enough ammunition to arm a garrison. Once they were all reunited again, each of them would be armed to the teeth.

_ So much for the safe paradise in the North we’ve been dreaming of all these months,  _ Zana thought as she clumsily inserted the projectiles into the hand-gun’s chamber.  _ I need to have Peet teach me how to use this thing... _

She and Galen split up as soon as they left the market hall - Galen tracing the way back to the inn, Zana following the alley that led to the stable where they had parked their wagon and the horses; it was the only other route Peet could’ve chosen.

Ironically, she didn’t feel safer with the weight of the gun dragging at her side; she felt preposterous, boasting a weapon she could hardly operate, and every casual glance from a passerby seemed to mock her for it. She hardly dared to meet their eyes, let alone ask them if they had seen a dark-haird human, wearing a blue shirt and a tan-colored vest, and a swagger that no other human dared to show...

Zana stopped in the middle of the street, ignoring the muttered curses of the apes who had to veer off to avoid a collision with her, and took a deep breath.  _ I can’t let this keep me from finding him. _

She imagined Felga standing beside her, propping her hands on her wide hips, and surveying the street with a slight shake of her head.  _ Zana, darling, you’re not going to let that riffraff intimidate you, are ye? Street vermin, the lot of them! _

Felga was marching forward now, not waiting for her to catch up, walking up to the nearest ape and simply blocking their path with her voluptuous body. Zana could almost hear her booming, slightly scratchy voice: “’scuse me, stranger, have you seen my human? Poor boy got lost in this maze, and if he came by here, he’s not one to miss...”

Zana clenched her fists. She could do this. She  _ would  _ do this. For Peet. And for her own self-respect.

The first few apes shook her off without even saying a word. Finally, Zana was so fed up that she just grabbed the sleeve of the ape she had approached, and yanked him around. “I must say, I’m  _ not  _ very taken with this town,” she hissed. “And I’ll make sure to let all the ladies in my bookclub back in the City know  _ not  _ to spend their money here, when we plan our next trip to the Iron Mountains. But I’m still willing to believe that your mother taught you enough manners to at least reply to a lady if she asks you something.”

The young chimpanzee gaped at her for a moment. “What was your question again?”

“’What was your question again,  _ ma’am’,”  _ Zana corrected him sharply. “I’m looking for my human - I sent him to the market yesterday evening, and he hasn’t returned, and I’m  _ certain  _ that something happened to him. Was there a fight here somewhere, did you see or hear anything?”

The ape shook his head. “No. Didn’t hear anything. Can I go now?”

Zana let go of him with a disgusted sigh, and the ape hurried away, muttering under his breath. She was sure that ‘ma’am’ wasn’t part of his rant.

She shrugged it off, and chose her next candidate.

Nobody had seen or heard anything. Nobody could remember a dark-haired human in a blue shirt and tan-colored vest. If anyone had seen, or heard, or remembered something, they didn’t tell her. By late afternoon, Zana’s feet were hurting, she was slightly nauseous from having skipped breakfast, and lunch, and she felt utterly and thoroughly discouraged. She didn’t dare to hope that Galen had been more lucky in the meantime, but maybe she should take a break and meet up with him, ask him if he had already commissioned the ‘wanted’ ad at the newspaper...

When she looked up, she realized with a start that she had somehow crossed the invisible border to the shady part of town, the part that sported establishments like The Tipsy Goat, and where unsuspecting women were mugged in the street. She touched the gun under her robe, suddenly reassured by its weight. What if Peet had returned to The Tipsy Goat for some reason?

She didn’t draw the gun when she entered the alley, but she tried to split her attention between the dirty cobblestones at her feet, and whatever moved behind her back.

When they had searched for an inn the day before, Zana had fixed her eye on the street signs hanging into the street above her. Today, straining for full-surround awareness, she noticed the humans in the niches and corners - mostly young ones, the oldest barely reaching puberty, dirty and gaunt, with huge eyes in their pale faces. They were probably abandoned - Zana couldn’t imagine that any of the quarter’s simian inhabitants could afford to keep a human; these apes were barely able to feed themselves and their own offspring.

The humans scattered when she tried to talk to them, but as soon as she turned her back to them, they flocked together again, and followed her on silent feet, keeping a safe distance. Zana ignored them after a while, and returned to scanning the gutter.

When she saw it, her heart started pounding even before her eyes identified its shape. A pale dot, about ten feet ahead of her, in the gutter, just as she had told Galen. Zana hurried over and picked it up.

It was the wooden horse-head pendant, its leather strip torn at the knot.


	5. Chapter 5

Whatever else could be said about the town watch of Etissa, their officers were undoubtedly long-suffering, something that Galen was slowly coming to appreciate. Ever since Zana had inserted herself into the murder case of Sapan’s most notorious reporter and human-rights activist, she had lost their most important survival tool: respect for an officer of the watch.

“You cannot be serious!” she snapped at the chief of police, a fat, elderly Chimpanzee who had the bad luck of working his shift when he and Zana had stormed into his office. Well, actually Zana had done the storming; Galen had tried to hold her back and calm her down, but could as well have tried to stop a winter gale.

“I found this in the gutter of Skinner Street!” Zana pushed Peet’s pendant under the Chief’s nose. “It was torn from my human’s neck, see here? How _dare_ you suggest that he just ran off into the mountains?”

“Because it wouldn’t have been the first time, ma’am,” the Chief said, and gently pushed her hand away. “Them servants run away all the time, and yours even had money to spend. Have to tell you like it is, you won’t see your human nor you money again.”

“He _didn’t_ run away,” Zana said through clenched teeth, and Galen found it prudent to step in.

“It’s highly unlikely that our human just ran off,” he said calmly, and paused until the Chimp finally averted his gaze from Zana and made eye contact with him. “He’s trained as a bodyguard, and he’s been _thoroughly_ broken in. He’s incapable of even thinking of rebellion.”

_Great Cesar, that must be the biggest string of lies I’ve ever told._

The chief scratched his jaw, obviously not convinced. “Well, suppose ‘twas like you said,” he conceded, “then I have to wonder what business your bodyguard had in Skinner Street. It’s in a bad part of town, especially for a human.”

“What do you mean?” Galen exchanged a worried look with Zana.

The chief swayed his head, as if he was already regretting his words. “We have a bit of a problem with illegal manfighting in this area,” he admitted. “We had some success with rooting out the smaller businesses...”

“Businesses?” Zana asked, flabberghasted.

The chief shrugged. “Well, it’s illegal business, of course, but make no mistake, they make a lot of money with those fights.” He gestured at a poster behind him that promised a reward of ten thousand _sembles_ for any ape who provided substantial aid in bringing down the organized manfighting crime in Etissa. “We’re still trying to get a hold of some of the big players.”

He heaved his considerable weight out of the chair. “If we come across your human in the course of our investigations, we’ll return him to you. So as I said,” he walked towards the door of his office, “we’re looking into the matter.” He opened the door, a clear hint that their audience was over.

Galen took Zana by the arm and dragged her out of the room before she could jump at the burly chief’s throat. “We appreciate your, ah, dedication to the case,” he said, and quickly shoved her towards the main entrance.

“Keep moving,” he said under his breath, smiling and nodding at the officers in passing, “or do you want to spend the night in a prison cell? That won’t help Peet at all.” He could feel her trembling with fury in his grip, but she kept her mouth shut until they were safely outside the watch house.

“These... these incompetent, lazy, arrogant, smug, cold-hearted... insufferable _baboons!”_ Zana shook off his hand and marched two steps away, then stopped, fists clenched at her sides. “He didn’t care in the least about what could happen to Peet! And he’ll do absolutely nothing to find him!”

She spun around and hurried back to him. “We need to go back to Skinner Street and start asking around. Someone there _must_ have seen something!”

“Zana... Zana.” Galen snatched her arm when she moved to turn away again, and pulled her around to him. “Zana, I promise, we _will_ find Peet. But it’s madness to go into that part of town unprepared, and at this time of day...” He gestured vaguely up to the sky. “It’s already getting dark again, and as much as I like Peet, there is no way in all the white wastes that I’ll let you go there at night. We’d vanish as completely as Peet, and there’d be no-one left to go looking for _us.”_

“This is the second night he’s gone, Galen,” Zana said in a strained voice. “Mothers only know what they’ve already done to him... what they’re doing to him now...”

“Don’t,” Galen snapped. “Don’t drive yourself crazy with these fantasies,” he added, more calmly. “They won’t help him, and they’ll just impair your capacity to think clearly - and that is our most important weapon right now. - Let’s call it a day for now. We’re both exhausted, and we need to make a new plan.” He linked arms with her and they began to slowly walk back to the inn.

“Look at it this way,” he tried to console Zana. “We found out Peet’s last whereabouts, and the chief gave us some important new information. We did achieve something today. And Peet isn’t one of your toddlers - he survived Urko’s interrogation, for _weeks._ He’ll take care of himself. And he’ll know we’ll come for him.”

Zana merely nodded, but she didn’t say a single word until the yellow light of the inn’s door lamp lapped against their robes.

“I hope you’re right about Peet,” she murmured as she pushed open the heavy gate to the inn’s yard. “But he never really recovered from what Urko inflicted on him. He wouldn’t be able to endure this kind of treatment for weeks anymore.”

* * *

They were at Skinner Street before sunrise, hand guns strapped to their bodies; Galen had insisted on bringing Betsy along, too, as a visible deterrent for any enterprising inhabitant of the neighbourhood, and stood now behind her like a bodyguard, scowling at everyone who so much as glanced at them.

Zana thought that this also prevented her from getting close enough to anyone to ask them if they had seen Peet, but said nothing. For her own part, she was carrying a bag that contained a bottle of hot tea and something to eat, and a collection of bandages and wound dressings, in case Peet needed some first aid when they found him.

She scoured every inch of Skinner Street, several times, as well as all its surrounding alleys, and even the small paths between houses that stank of urine and other things she didn’t want to think about, but came up empty-handed.

“Whoever attacked Peet did it at the spot where I found the horse pendant,” she said to Galen while they were sharing the bottle of tea. The hot liquid soothed her frazzled mind and relaxed her body enough that she could nibble at a piece of nut bread.

“They must’ve outnumbered him, and taken him by surprise, because I didn’t find any blood stains on the stones,” she continued, and thoughtfully chewed on a dried apricot. “And considering what an excellent fighter Peet is - and that he was armed with a knife - I find that remarkable. And disturbing.”

Galen took the tea flask from her hand. “Do you think this was planned? That they were waiting for him?”

Zana swallowed heavily. “I got in a bit of a scuffle just outside the Tipsy Goat,” she admitted. “Three thugs tried to rob me when I went out to buy some tea, and Peet came back from the stables and jumped right in. He... he killed all three of them, in mere moments.”

Galen raised his brows at that. “He killed three _apes?_ And that didn’t result in a lynch mob?”

Zana shook her head. “No, on the contrary - I saw money changing hands. They bet on the fight. After what the chief of police told us yesterday, I’m thinking that someone might’ve gotten the idea that Peet could make them a lot more money that way...”

“Phew.” Galen stared straight ahead, the flask forgotten in his hand. “Do you realize what we’re up against here? Not even the police has been able to catch these people.”

“Well, now I’m relieved,” Zana deadpanned. “For a moment, I thought you’d say that competent people were on the case. But with the Etissan police as our yardstick, I’m really optimistic that we’ll find Peet.” She popped the last morsel of nut bread into her mouth and chewed furiously. “And then I’ll burn their establishment to the ground, and walk those baboons to the watch, at gunpoint, and then I’ll call out that lazy bum of a chief...”

“I like that plan,” Galen said hastily, “but let’s focus on finding Peet first, shall we?”

Since their search for physical clues had been exhausted, the second part of Zana’s plan consisted in finding witnesses. She soon gave up on the apes - none of them cared about humans in general, or her human in particular, except maybe to bet on them. Zana suspected that many, if not all inhabitants of this quarter sought to make some money with betting in those illegal fights. They had no reason to talk to her - and maybe every reason to alert the organizer of these fights to change their hiding place.

She turned to the street humans instead.

This turned out to be even less successful, even after Galen had tried to hide Betsy under his robe. Finally, she spotted a flock of cubs - of children - that retreated into a blind alley when she and Galen walked towards them. She had Galen wait at the mouth of the alley - “Don’t let them out before I tell you” - and slowly approached the little humans who were huddled against the wall at the end of the street.

“I mean you no harm,” she said, and turned her palms up and outward. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

The tallest of the children - a boy just shy of entering puberty, though it was hard to say with these starved individuals - began to give the smaller children a leg-up, pushing them upwards so they could grab the crown of the wall and climb over it. He was hoisting up his little comrades at an amazing speed, and they were crawling over the wall as agilely as little monkeys; Zana couldn’t help but admire both the boy’s strength, and the other children’s speed during that maneuver. When she had reached the boy, he already had brought all his charges to safety.

“That was really impressive,” she said to the boy, who was waiting for her in a slightly crouched stance, staring fixedly at her. Looking for any sudden movements that would telegraph an attack, Zana realized. “But I really mean you no harm. I’m looking for a friend who was abducted by apes. He’s a human, like you.”

The boy neither moved, nor said a word. Zana suddenly realized that he had taken up the same position as Peet did when he prepared to strike, and cautiously took a step back. She had no idea if this human was armed, but there was a good chance that he was. Life on these streets made it almost inevitable for a human to learn to fight - and she suspected that those who were good enough to survive on the streets would end up in the fighting pits of the apes.

“I’m afraid for his life,” she tried again. “If you saw anything, if you can tell me where they took him, I’ll be very grateful. You’ll get a reward - lots of food, warm clothes, whatever you need-”

Suddenly, the boy lunged at her. Zana threw herself to the side, and a flash of metal grazed her sleeve. Behind her, Galen shouted something unintelligible, and then a loud crack thundered in her ears.

“Galen, no!” she shouted, keeping her eyes glued to the boy who had frozen at the sound, knife still in his hand. She stared at it, then at the boy - feral and frightened, and absolutely unreachable for her.

She straightened. “Let him go.”

Behind her, she heard Galen work Betsy’s lever. “He tried to kill you.”

Not taking her eyes off the boy, Zana repeated, “Let him go. He’s just a child, and he was frightened for his life. - You can go now,” she added towards the boy. “My friend won’t shoot you.” She slowly walked backwards until she bumped into Galen, and pushed down the barrel of his gun. “Go.”

The boy moved so quickly that she wasn’t sure if she would’ve been able to dodge another attack. But he just raced past them and vanished into another alley.

Behind her, Galen drew a deep breath. “I wasn’t going to shoot him,” he said, his voice a bit unsteady. “Just frighten him. But Cesar, Zana, _he_ would’ve killed you in a heartbeat!”

Zana turned around to face him. “I know. It’s how he survived this long. Galen, we need Alan, and we need him today. None of these humans is going to talk to either of us, and we need to follow this trail as long as it’s still fresh.”

Galen frowned at her. “You found Peet’s pendant yesterday, and Peet has been gone for three days now. We don’t have a fresh trail.”

Zana grabbed his robe. “Yes, we have! The knife that this boy brandished at me - that was Peet’s knife.”


	6. Chapter 6

Galen felt too hot in his robe, too... big, and itching, and utterly unable to sit still and wait until the majordomo returned with the master of the house. He was pacing from desk to window and back again, trying not to look at the trophies and medals displayed on every wall.

_I was such a fool. Such a blind, greedy, careless fool._

But he couldn’t afford feeling embarrassed. Ramor would enter any moment now, and then he’d have to wrest Alan from the big Chimpanzee’s hands, two days early, and for that, he needed to be cool and detached. If he allowed himself to feel anything, it could only be righteous indignation - at Ramor, not at himself.

By sheer luck, Galen had come to stand before Ramor’s desk when the door opened; at least the other ape didn’t catch him pacing his office like a student awaiting detention.

“I’m here to revoke our deal,” Galen said without preamble. “And you’re lucky if that’s the only thing I’ll do.”

Ramor blinked, then slowly continued to his desk. “What’s the problem, Oklan? Revoking a deal is not a frivolous matter...”

“Closing a deal under false pretenses isn’t, either,” Galen cut in. “Or do you still want to claim that you rented my human to serve as a party decoration?”

Ramor squinted at him. “Except that I never claimed that.”

Galen hesitated. He couldn’t remember what exactly Ramor had said three days ago; the only detail he remembered clearly were the _sembles_ that the Chimpanzee had counted into his money pouch.

“You didn’t outright claim it, no,” he barged forward. “But you framed your offer in a way that led me to false conclusions, and you did nothing to correct them. That’s just as much fraud as lying directly.”

Ramor scoffed. “I’m not responsible for your assumptions. And you were more than happy to take my money-“

“I wouldn’t have taken your money, or made that deal, if I had known what kind of business you run,” Galen said grimly. “You tricked me into this deal, which makes it void. And now get my human here, before-“

Ramor raised his brows, amused. “Before you call the town watch?”

“Oh, I already had the pleasure of meeting your watch,” Galen said, and felt a strange calm descending on him. “I’m afraid they don’t meet my standards for law enforcement. But this here,” he lifted the lapel of his robe to reveal the hand gun underneath, “does.”

Ramor stared at it contemplatively for a long moment; when he raised his eyes to meet Galen’s gaze, he seemed completely unperturbed. “In that case, I want my money back.”

“You already used my human for three days,” Galen said, making his tone more indifferent than he felt inside. “And with the usual rates in your business, you’d still owe _me_ money. But for the sake of getting this over with, I won’t insist on it. Now call your servant to bring back my human, or I swear I’ll walk you through your whole estate at gunpoint to get him myself.”

Ramor scoffed again, but rang for his majordomo and ordered him to send Oklan’s human to his office.

They waited in silence, the moment stretching endlessly.

“There he is,” Ramor broke that silence, when the door finally opened again. “Whole and hale. You were acting as if I was sending him into a pit full of bushcats.”

He gestured at Alan who was, as Galen reassured himself after a quick glance, indeed looking pretty much unchanged, except for his pale and haggard face. Well, he had probably not gotten much sleep in Ramor’s employ. Galen suppressed a resigned sigh.

“Let’s go,” he said to Alan, and gestured for the door. “I’ll make sure to warn people only to make written deals with you,” he said over his shoulder to a smiling Ramor.

“I can’t say I regret anything,” the ape called after him. “And I’ve gotten my money’s worth in those three days, too.”

The door closed behind them before Galen could hurl a comeback at him.

When they finally stepped outside the main door, Galen took a deep breath. For the first time since they had entered Etissa, he found the cool mist soothing. “I am terribly sorry,” he said, without looking at Alan. “I had no idea.”

The human didn’t answer, and after a long moment of silence, Galen cleared his throat. “I should be glad that I got you out of there two days early, but the reason for it isn’t a pleasant one. We need your help.”

He cast another glance at the human and saw to his relief that this last bit had gotten Alan’s attention - his blue eyes, sunken and red-rimmed, were fixed at him. He gulped, guilt erupting in his chest like lava.

“Peet has gone missing three days ago. We... we must assume the worst.”

* * *

Zana had grudgingly agreed to wait at the inn until Galen returned with Alan - even with the hand-gun under her robe, even with Betsy in her hand, Galen had been adamant that it was too dangerous for her to wait alone in Skinner Street. Besides, he had pointed out, as an ape, and armed to the teeth, she couldn’t hope to track the boy; she’d only chase him away completely, into hiding holes that not even Alan would be able to find. They had to trust that he would be able to track down the boy again - as hopeless as that looked right now.

She had packed and unpacked her leather pouch for the eighth or ninth time when the door finally opened and Galen entered, followed by a tired-looking Alan. Zana drew a deep breath, and hastily stuffed the tincture of chamomile into her bag again. “Did Galen tell you what happened?”

“Yes.”

Zana’s hands stilled over the clasp. Alan’s voice was rough, as if he hadn’t talked for weeks, or shouted a lot. She looked up, and for the first time since he had entered, really looked _at_ him.

He looked more than tired. He looked - wrung out, and pale, and... haunted. Zana stared at him, trying to put a finger on what gave her that impression.

Alan turned away, rubbing a hand over his face, and went to the stove to lift the lid of the teapot. “You mind if I drink something before we go?” he murmured.

“Sit down, Alan,” Zana said, her concern mounting with every moment she watched Alan shuffle slowly, clumsily, from stove to table. He moved like an old man, or as if he was aching all over.

“You sit down,” she repeated, flicking a questioning glance at Galen, who was busying himself with their weapons, “and I’ll make you some _fresh_ tea, and something to eat. You look... exhausted. Did you have to work the nights?” She didn’t have too much experience with parties, but the few she remembered from her student days had lasted all night.

Alan smiled, a slow, cynical smile. “Nights and days,” he said with that deep, rough voice that sounded as if it belonged to someone else.

A terrible, terrible thought bloomed in Zana’s mind - what if this Ramor was part of the illegal manfighting scene in Etissa? After all, Olman had outwardly been a respectable businessman, too, the head of Tall Timber, an enterprise that supplied the whole South with wood and herbs...

... and drugs.

She surreptitiously scanned Alan for cuts and bruises, but if he had them, they were hidden under his clothing, and she couldn’t order him to strip - unlike this world’s humans, he and Peet were peculiar when it came to their natural nakedness.

“Alan,” she said, and gently laid her hands on his shoulders, “have you been injured?”

He stared up at her for a moment, his eyes suddenly bright. Then he turned away and reached for the teapot. “I’m fine.” But his hands were trembling slightly when he poured himself a mug of tea.

“Tell me about that boy again,” he said, and put the pot down with a thump. “Try to describe him with as much detail as possible.”

Zana slowly sank down on the chair opposite of him. Something was wrong, but right now, Peet’s rescue was more urgent than even Alan’s strange and disturbing state of slow unraveling.

“He was maybe chest-high... to your chest, that is,” she said, trying to catch Alan’s gaze; but he was staring into his mug, wrapping his hands around it to soak up its heat. “He had very dark hair, even darker than Peet’s, and dark skin... although that could’ve also been dirt. Some of these children sleep in fire pits after the fire has died down.” At least that was what one of Felga’s articles had claimed.

Alan was rubbing his face again, looking even more exhausted than before. “Any... distinguishing marks?” he asked. “Anything that makes him stand out from all the other street kids populating this town?”

“He had Peet’s knife,” Zana said. “Other than that... well, he seemed to be the leader of a little gang of his own. The children seemed to be all younger than him, some just out of toddler age. He brought them all to safety before he faced me down.”

A slight smile tugged at Alan’s lips, and this time, it seemed to be genuine. “He seems to have his heart in the right place. Not an easy feat in a place like this.” He emptied his mug and pushed away from the table. “Well, I better make use of the daylight. It’s already past noon again... No, it’s better if I go alone,” he said when Zana moved to rise with him. “The way Galen had described your encounter to me, I won’t have a chance to even get near him as long as I’m in the company of apes. You just have to... trust me on this.”

“Of course I trust your judgment, Alan,” Zana said, and silently added _as long as it doesn’t concern your obsession with old human cities._ “You know that. But that part of town is dangerous, and you’re... you seem to be...” She gestured helplessly at him. ”... out of sorts... somewhat?”

Alan grimaced and turned away. “I’m just tired. But we need to track down that boy as soon as possible. So it has to be now. And it has to be me. And no one else.”

“At least take this with you.” Zana hurried after him and wrestled her hand gun free from under her robe. Alan stared at it, then at her.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said slowly.

“I told you, it’s dangerous there,” Zana insisted. “These apes have already abducted Peet, and if they take you, too... you need to be able to defend yourself. And humans are allowed to carry weapons here, if their... if you have mine or Galen’s permission. And there’s no question that you have my permission to defend yourself against the unsavory examples of my people, Alan... always.”

Alan regarded her with a strange, unreadable expression for a moment. “I appreciate your trust in me,” he finally said, and lightly touched her arm. “But I don’t trust myself with a gun right now. You could give me a bit of money, though...”

“Of course.” Maybe Alan wanted to buy something to eat on the street; he hadn’t touched his food at all. Or maybe he wanted to buy it to bait the boy... or to reward him. Zana grabbed a handful of _sembles_ and pushed them into his hand. Alan took them and slipped out of the door without a word.

Zana stood there for a moment, staring at the door blade and trying to understand what was going on with Alan. Something bad had happened to him in Ramor’s house, something he absolutely didn’t want to talk about.

She would ask Galen - oh yes, she would ask Galen, who had slipped out of the room at some point to do Mothers knew what - and he’d answer all her questions as soon as he came back, and there would be no slipping out of rooms then.

_Mothers help him if he tries to avoid me again._


	7. Chapter 7

The day felt unreal - the fog too bright, the sounds too loud, his body too raw... too...

_Focus on the task at hand._

Etissa was built on a mountain slope, and the worst parts of town were also the lowest when it came to their physical location. They received all the rainwater rushing from the roofs of the upper town, and also all of its sewage. On the other hand, skinners, tanners, and dyers couldn’t run their business uphill, or they would poison the whole town with their special brand of sewage, so the current layout had probably been inevitable.

At least it made finding his destination easier - he had just to follow the streets that led downward. Virdon only slowed when the houses became shabbier and dirtier, just like the apes slouching in the doorways. The humans who skittered from shadow to shadow reminded him of the robbers who had stopped their wagon - gaunt and hollow-eyed, stinking and wheezing, clinging to their wretched lives with the mindless determination of animals.

_That’s what we are in the end, animals, trapped in the bodies of animals..._

Pete. He had to find him. Find the boy who had - somehow - gotten hold of his friend’s beloved ANSA knife.

Virdon knew that despite his three days in hell, he didn’t look nearly as wrecked as any of these people; but he had to signal somehow that he was one of them, just as downtrodden and abused as the humans of Skinner Street. Just _being_ human wouldn’t suffice.

Slowly, deliberately, he began to roll up his sleeves.

The rope marks were still there, bright red and swollen. Virdon stared at them for a moment, wondering if he should also roll up his pant legs... but in this weather, it would look too deliberate. This would have to do.

Virdon slowly wandered down Skinner Street, taking in every detail without staring openly at anything or anyone, or letting his gaze rest anywhere for more than a short instant. He stopped at a street vendor to buy a mug filled with hot broth and some vegetables, and forced it down, more for the sake of blending in than out of real hunger. It still warmed him from within, and some of the tension that had been twisting his insides began to slowly dissipate.

It felt good to be able to move his limbs again; and it felt good to cast his attention outward, to the sights and sounds and smells of the real world, and away from his own body. But no matter how much he walked, and how determinedly he took in the stench of urine from the gutters, the shades of ochre and umber that tinted the walls of the houses, his mind still felt untethered to his body; it was as if he was sitting in the back row of a theater, watching the movie playing a mile away with mild interest. He felt fuzzy, frayed... half asleep. It was a dangerous state of being, one that he was probably telegraphing to any criminal, human or simian, in a ten mile radius; but he couldn’t find the energy to care about it.

It took him some time to realize that he was being followed; but right now, it wasn’t hard to ignore the quiet patter of feet, the furtive movements at the edge of his vision. He was too exhausted to be curious.

Then he remembered again that he was supposed to be looking for Burke, and stopped at another food vendor to buy a second mug of soup, and a fat slice of nut bread, and used the interruption to flick a glance at the street behind him.

They were good; he only saw one of them, a little girl of maybe three years who was tottering along as if she had forgotten the first lesson of all street kids no matter the place or time: when a big one suddenly stops in his tracks, make yourself invisible.

She was staring at the nut bread in his hand as if hypnotized, following it with her eyes as he slowly moved it towards his mouth; she only realized that he was watching her when he stopped the movement an inch away from his mouth. Her eyes flicked up to his, huge and frightened, and he smiled at her, and tried to put all his love for his own children into his gaze. _Poor little girl - did they throw you out because you didn’t match the standards? Or did your new owners throw you out when you didn’t get housebroken quickly enough?_

To his relief, the girl smiled back, a slow, tremulous smile, and in response he deepened his own smile and held out the bread to her, nodding encouragingly. She looked at it, then back at him, clearly torn between hunger and fear.

Virdon slowly crouched down and laid the slice of bread onto the dirty cobblestones, then turned away to buy another, even fatter piece of bread and another cup of broth in addition to the one that was already cooling in his hand.

When he turned back, both the girl and his offering had vanished.

He walked down the street a few steps, until he had found an empty doorway, and sat down on the doorstep, putting one of the mugs with soup beside him, and breaking the bread in half. He balanced one half on the top of the mug, and bit into the other one, deliberately moaning with pleasure.

Once he had taken the second bite, he didn’t have to fake his hunger anymore. The first mug of soup from before had woken up his stomach, and Virdon found himself wolfing down both his second mug and his half of the nut bread.

When he looked up, the boy was watching him from across the street. Virdon slowed his chewing and scrutinized him just as openly. He didn’t see Burke’s knife, but that meant nothing; the boy was smart enough not to openly display his weapons. His skin wasn’t dirty, as Zana had believed, but simply of a darker color.

Virdon didn’t know why he was so certain that this was the right boy - maybe because the little girl was clinging to his legs. Most of the street children he had seen so far were running in packs whose members were of roughly the same age; they didn’t bother to burden themselves with children who couldn’t pull their weight.

Well, maybe the girl was his sister. Although he seemed to have a lot of siblings of various ages - they were slowly emerging from the shadows now, fourteen children, if Virdon had counted them correctly from the corner of his eyes.

He thoughtfully bit into his bread and put the mug to his lips again. Several children stirred lightly when he swallowed. Virdon bit back a smile, put the mug down, drew his left leg to his chest and folded his hands around it. He couldn’t jump up quickly from this position, or reach for a hidden weapon, and the boy’s calculating look told him that he had realized that, too.

He nodded at the boy in acknowledgment. “My friend gave me a handful of _sembles_ that will buy each of you a mug of soup and a big slice of nut bread,” he said. “Do you think that is a good price?”

The children began to whisper to each other, and the little girl yanked at the boy’s pant leg. The boy was chewing his lower lip, ignoring her.

“Depends on what you wanna buy,” he said. His voice was surprisingly deep and scratchy; Virdon hoped he didn’t smoke the apes’ pipe weed. On the other hand, tobacco did numb the hunger... he could almost see these children scraping the discarded remains from tapped-out pipes from the gutters.

“Information,” he said, and smiled his most pleasant smile. “Something that costs you no time or effort. My friend has gone missing here somewhere.”

“That friend that gave you the _sembles?”_ the boy scoffed. “Idiots don’t make it for long around here.”

Virdon slightly shook his head. “No. My human friend. We’ve been together a long time. We have each other’s back - I saved his skin a number of times, and he saved mine.” He smiled wryly. “And now it seems it’s my turn again. I’m willing to do anything it takes to find him. Even inviting all of you for lunch.”

The boy eyed him thoughtfully. “An’ how do you think I know about your friend?”

“You have his knife,” Virdon said calmly.

The boy took a step back. “Found it. It’s mine now.”

“I don’t care about the knife,” Virdon said evenly. _Though I bet Pete will._ “I just want to find my friend before the apes get him killed.”

“Maybe he’s already dead,” the boy said, watching him.

“In that case,” Virdon said in a heavy voice, “I want his body, so that I can bury him. That’s what a friend does.”

“A whole bread for everyone,” the boy decided. “And a bowl of soup. And a piece of dried meat that is as big as my hand, for everyone. And we get to eat first.”

“A bread and a bowl of soup for everyone up front,” Virdon agreed. “The meat after you told me what you know.”

The boy nodded. “Deal.”

The deal ate up almost all of Virdon’s _sembles,_ but watching the children tear into their food made him wish he had asked Zana for more. The little girl - Dadi - had climbed onto his lap and had insisted that he hold the bowl for her as she soaked her bread in it. Looking down on her head, Virdon saw that her scalp was crawling with lice.

“You saw me buy the meat,” he said when the last drop of soup had been soaked up with the last morsel of bread, and everyone was sighing with exhaustion - all but one unlucky child who had eaten so hastily that his body violently rejected the sudden load. The boy was crying with despair as he vomited his meal back into the gutter. Virdon resolved to buy him another slice of nut bread from his last _sembles._ “It’s yours if your information is good.”

The boy nodded. According to Dadi, his name was Pero, but Virdon was careful not to address him by it. As long as Pero didn’t give his name, Virdon would pretend not to know it.

“Some apes jumped your friend in Skinner Street,” Pero said. “One jumped on him from the rooftop, ‘n when your friend went down, the other jumped on his legs, so he couldn’t get up. There was a bit of fighting, but I couldn’t see it clearly, ‘cause it was dark. ‘n then they hit him over the head, ‘n put a bag over his head, ‘n dragged him off. Went to see if he maybe lost his shoes or something, but he only lost his knife. Finders, keepers,” he added defiantly. “It’s mine now.”

“I told you, I’m not interested in the knife,” Virdon said. “Do you know where they took him? Do you know _who_ took him?”

Pero held out his hand. “That’s a new question... two new questions. You got the _sembles_ to pay for them?”

Virdon gritted his teeth and forced himself to smile. “Not at the moment, but I can get more. Will you meet me here again?” He chucked the bag with dried meat at Pero’s feet.

The boy bent down to pick it up, his eyes never leaving Virdon’s face. “Not here. We’ll find you anywhere in the quarter.” He took a step back, still staring him down, then another.

Then they were gone.

* * *

**Three days earlier**

Burke woke up with the worst hangover since that week in Tokyo... a steady thrum in his skull, extending from his neck to the top of his head, slow waves of pain and nausea ebbing and flowing in the rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment he just lay there, trying not to move, trying to remember where he had been and what he had been drinking, and if she had at least been worth it...

Then the sensation of hard stalks pricking his cheek and throat floated to the top of his awareness, together with the stench of sweat and urine, and underneath, the dark musk of ape.

Ape. That’s where he had been. As far away from Tokyo as possible, at the other end of the galaxy, the other end of a wormhole.

_I’m still in hell._

He didn’t move a muscle, despite the dirty straw under his nose. He wasn’t completely there yet, and he didn’t want to alert anyone that he’d come around - not before he had gathered all of his brain matter. He silently took stock of his body. Except for his throbbing skull, everything seemed to be still in place and pretty much in working order.

The recording of the events that had brought him here seemed to be broken, though. Burke remembered leaving the inn for some last-ditch grocery shopping for Zana, and then deciding to make a quick detour to the stables to see if everything was okay with Tala and Apache.

But he couldn’t remember if he had even been there. No idea if he had been mugged before he reached the stable, or afterwards. Or where it had happened. Had he taken a wrong turn in the twilight? Had he tried to take a shortcut?

After some more stabs at the stubborn darkness in his memory, Burke gave up. It didn’t really matter what had happened. He was here now - wherever here was - and his sole objective was to get out of here as quickly as possible. And maybe kick the ass of whoever had knocked him out and dragged him into this stinking cage.

He slowly peeled one eye open and tried to scan his surroundings. The light was dim, but rolling his eyes sent another jolt of pain through his head. Burke clenched his teeth and slowly sat up.

He was in a cage alright - wooden frame, but the bars were made of metal. The weak light in the room - some grimy shack, probably in some dilapidated backyard - came through a single window high up in the wall; by the indigo tint of the fog outside, Burke estimated that it had to be early evening, not much later than when he had left the inn.

... unless he had been out cold for a whole day. He gingerly felt for the back of his head. A big lump, and what felt like dried blood confirmed his suspicion - someone had jumped him from behind and and clobbered him before he could even draw-

... yeah, his knife was gone. Probably for good this time. Burke felt a pang of despair at the thought - the knife had been the last relic of his old life, a tangible proof that he had really been an ANSA pilot, and that that life had really once existed.

Maybe one of his attackers had taken it, as some sort of trophy. Burke amended his marching orders to add ‘get my knife back’ and got to his knees to get a better overview over the rest of the shack’s interior.

Two rows of cages were facing each other across a wide aisle, but it was too dark to see if someone else besides him was kept in any of them. Burke wondered what this setup was meant for - the cages were too small to keep people there permanently; it looked more like a holding place, maybe to collect a certain number of people, and then... what? Transport them somewhere else? Maybe... maybe a slave market?

_I don’t plan to stay around to find out._

The cage was too low to stand upright, probably on purpose; the most Burke could do was to get to his knees. He started probing the bars, one by one, where they were inserted into the wooden frame, but contrary to the shed, and the bedding in his cage, the cage itself was kept in top condition. Even the wooden planks underneath the straw were fitted seamlessly. There wasn’t as much as a splinter missing anywhere. Burke bit back a curse and returned to the front of his cage. There had to be a lock somewhere - not that he could do much about it now, without lock picks, but once he knew what kind of lock it was, maybe he could dig out some splinters from those planks, and...

“You don’t need to try to break out. It’s no use.”

The voice sounded young; it came from the cage opposite of him, accompanied by rustling straw. Burke squinted into the deepening darkness, but didn’t see more than vague movement. “You’d know, eh? Did you even try? Where are we, anyway?”

“We’re in Asar’s stable,” the voice said. It was a bit scratchy, teetering on the floating beam of voice break and repeatedly falling off to the wrong side of pitch. Its owner couldn’t be older than twelve, Burke guessed - with the rampant malnutrition, puberty tended to start later in these kids.

“Okay, and who is this Asar guy?” he asked. “And why is he keeping _you_ here?”

“Uh...” said the voice. “Everyone knows Asar...”

“Just imagine that there are people who don’t,” Burke snapped. “Not everyone was born in this shithole.”

“Uhm, yes, sorry,” the boy stuttered. “Asar is a chimpanzee. He’s... he owns humans and he... he lets them fight against other humans. To the, to the death.”

“Great,” Burke muttered. “Jus’ my kind of luck.” Aloud, he said, “So, what are you, then? Some kind of ninja kid?”

“What?” The boy sounded utterly confused now. Burke decided not to elaborate.

“How did you end up here?” he asked instead. “Did they clobber you over the head while you tried to piss your name into the mud?”

“Uhm, no... my, my master lost me in a game of _keppa.”_

 _Keppa_ was some sort of card game the apes were fond of. During their stay in Sapan, Galen had managed to lose exactly as much money with it as he had won, which had told Burke that he was a viciously good player. If the ape hadn’t mutated into such an asshole after the disaster with the mutants in the Forbidden Zone, Burke would’ve asked him to teach him the finer points of the game. He’d figured that it could be as profitable as poker, provided he could find an ape who was willing to play - and lose - against a human.

Right now, though, it seemed that it was humans who could only lose at that game. “And he expects you to fight to the death? What kind of town is this?” Burke asked, bewildered. He had seen some bad shit since they had crashed on this world, but this easily took the cake.

“It’s forbidden,” the boy said, “but they’re doing it anyway. They bet on us, and when Asar wins, we get extra meals, and an hour in the yard. And you don’t have to fight to the death every time. Sometimes, they call it a win when the other human can’t get up anymore, or taps out. But that’s only sometimes.”

“And did you already have to... fight... against someone?”

“Yeah. And I lost.” The boy sounded embarrassed. “They let me fight against a _girl._ But she was bigger than me, and really vicious.”

Burke blew out a sigh of relief. So that Asar bastard maybe wanted to train the kid as a fighter, and only send him into the real knockout tournaments once he was big and bad enough.

As for himself, Burke didn’t harbour any illusions - he was already big and bad. _You’ll find out just how bad I can get, you motherfuckers._ He wouldn’t stay around to let himself get beaten to death for the profit and entertainment of those monkeys.

But he needed more information first, and the kid seemed to have been around long enough to be useful. Burke tried to find a comfortable position in the cage. “So, buddy - what’s your name anyway?”

“Shut up, frog, I wanna sleep!”

The slur whipped through Burke like an electric current, jerking him away from the bars. The new voice had been deeper, the words slightly slurred; the sound of rustling straw came from his right, two cages over.

From a cage? Another prisoner?

“My name is Len,” the boy whispered. “We gotta be silent now, or Todan gets angry with us.”

“My name’s Pete,” Burke whispered back. “Who’s Todan? Another human? Thought I heard his voice coming from another cage...”

“He’s Asar’s best fighter,” Len whispered back. “And when Todan complains about you to Asar, Asar will give you a whipping.”

So they had a kapo with them. Beautiful, just beautiful. That explained why the asshole used ape slurs.

Burke slowly unclenched his fists and took some measured breaths. That slur had taken him by surprise. He couldn’t let that happen again. _You just assumed that every human hates the monkeys. But there’s always a rat who sides with the bullies._

He’d just have to take Todan into account from now on. And maybe he shouldn’t make any assumptions about the kid, either.

In this world, you couldn’t navigate on autopilot. Not when everything had gotten apeshit crazy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning for Rape/Non-Con

By the time one of Ramor’s servants had brought Virdon to “his room” and told him to wait there, he was pretty sure that whatever he was going to do wouldn’t involve balloons and streamers. Ramor’s house had been well-lit, from what he had been able to see as the big ape had ushered him towards the ground-level buildings behind his grove, but it hadn’t given the impression that some major event was about to take place in it. Virdon had seen no carriages or palanquins, or other signs that Ramor was expecting guests.

Ramor hadn’t told him what exactly he was expecting him to do, when Virdon had asked him. He had just smiled and said that he’d get instructions soon enough. “Don’t worry - you’re well equipped to perform this job for me.”

Shortly after that, he had handed him over to an elderly chimpanzee woman, who had looked him up and down, raised her brows, and muttered something under her breath before she ushered him into a room that, to Virdon’s surprise, had an honest-to-God bathtub with hot water in it.

The chimpanzee slapped a hard brush and a piece of soap into his hands and just said, “I assume you’re old enough that you don’t need  _ me _ to scrub you down.”

She had also taken his clothes with her; Virdon admitted that they needed a thorough cleaning as urgently as he did, but nobody had thought of laying out new clothes in exchange. His only piece of clothing now was the towel that he had slung around his hips, a fact that just added to the many odd details that had caught his eye since he had entered Ramor’s estate, and deepened his unease.

Like the fact that he had heard the voices of so many children, as he and Ramor had passed by the houses. Small children, by the pitch of their voices, and women singing them lullabies.

He hadn’t seen any of them - it had been too late in the day for small children to still be playing outside - but he had the distinct feeling that they had been human children. He couldn’t justify his hunch; as far as he knew, ape children didn’t really sound any different. But the feeling didn’t change - Ramor had many, many human children living on his estate. Virdon felt his heartbeat pick up as he contemplated the implications of this fact.

Zana and Galen were anomalies among their people. Apes saw humans as animals - capable of speech, but lacking souls. That ‘soul issue’ had been a common rationalization even among humans, at one time; it had to be infinitely easier to see the members of a different species as nothing but animals, if that was to your own species’ advantage. And with mankind somehow having taken itself to the brink of extinction, the apes had reason to feel superior. Which they did.

Humans toiled on the fields for the apes, whose fur and inability to sweat properly would’ve made large-scale agriculture impossible for them. Humans waited on their simian masters as body slaves, worked as cooks and cleaners and bodyguards. Humans served as entertainment, running against each others in racing competitions... and maybe other sports that Virdon hoped were as benign as racing.

Humans were bought and sold like animals... and, at least in the case of racers, they were also bred like animals.

The door opened again. Virdon took an involuntary step back, bracing himself for whatever would appear in it...

... he wasn’t really surprised when it was a young woman. But he wished he’d been wrong.

She was really very young.

And not wearing much.

“Look,” Virdon said, and tried to smile, “this has been a misunderstanding between your master and... and mine. I’m not here to... I’m not going to... this is not going to happen.”

The woman... the girl... the woman ignored him and steadily came closer, giving him a disinterested once-over. She didn’t look drugged, just distant. She had done this before, Virdon realized, despite her young age. Probably more than once. These women only existed to get pregnant and give birth. As soon as the babies were weaned, their mothers were thrown back into the breeding pool.

He took another step back, his mouth dry. “You don’t have to do this... not with me. We’ll call... we’ll call your master and I’ll clear this up with him. No...” He caught her wrists and held them. “Listen to me. I’m not going to, to mate with you. We need to call Ramor.”

Now she did meet his eyes, giving him a hazy, slightly irritated look. “What are you, a wildling?”

“Yes,” Virdon said, relieved that she was at least reacting to him. Well... reacting other than physically. “We... we choose our own partners in the wild. I can’t do this on command, and my,” he clenched his teeth for a second,  _ “master _ didn’t know what he was renting me out for, and he’d never have made a deal with Ramor if he’d known. Just call him down, will you?”

With a last skeptical look, the woman drew away from him and ambled back to the door. She opened it and spoke to someone in the corridor, then closed the door again and walked to the bed that Virdon had ignored so far.

“They won’t care, you know?” she said, and sat down on it. “They’ll just force you to do it. It’s because of your color.” She stretched out and smiled up to him, a slow, lazy smile. “It’s a nice color. I hope the baby will at least have your eyes. It’ll be so expensive that only rich apes can buy it. Then it’ll have a good life.”

“I’m not going to make a baby with you,” Virdon said, feeling ill.

The woman nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, you will. With me, and every jane that’s fertile right now.”

”... jane?” He didn’t want to know, but it sounded... like a name...

The woman frowned again. “A jane - a breeding female. Jons and janes... you do know how it’s done, right?”

Virdon didn’t know what to say. This whole conversation felt unreal.

Before could find his voice again, the door opened, and Ramor entered, flanked by a pair of gorillas. “What’s this here,” he growled at the girl. “You’re disrupting my schedule with your special sensibilities!”

Virdon swallowed and tried to ignore the gorillas. “This has been a misunderstanding, sir, I’m not...” he gestured towards the mattress, “... doing this.”

Ramor laughed. “Oh, but you will. I paid good money for it.”

“I’m sure that...” Was Galen operating under his real name here? Virdon had been too far away when Galen and Ramor had struck that deal. “I’m sure that my master hasn’t agreed to this kind of...  _ work.  _ And you were very vague about it, too.”

Ramor drew a deep breath and smiled. “You’re a smart one, huh? I could see it in your eyes, down in that market hall. And I bet your master likes it when you talk back, or you would’ve stopped with that habit. Well, far be it from me to housebreak other people’s humans.” He slung an arm around Virdon’s shoulders and gave him a companionable squeeze.

“So just for you, and just today, I’m going to explain to you what is going on here,” he said with a bright grin, as bright and sharp as a steel blade. “I’m the biggest breeder and seller of human cubs from here to the southern ocean, and up to the northern badlands. I have the finest cubs, all builds, all colors. You need a racer - I have it. You need a worker, I have it, you need a fine, rare breed to decorate your receptions, or fit with the color of your horses, you come to me.”

He let his arm fall from Virdon’s shoulders, and patted his butt. “And your master didn’t really care what kind of work I had in mind for you. All he was interested in was how much I was going to pay him. And I paid him well - a thousand  _ sembles  _ for each day I have you under my roof. The deal is valid, I paid the money, and you -  _ will _ \- go and mate with my janes, and you’ll do so eagerly and vigorously, or I’ll tie you a mating rack and have them ride you like a horse.” He stepped back and with a quick motion, ripped the towel from Virdon’s hips.

“He don’t look excited,” one of the gorillas remarked with a meaningful nod at Virdon’s crotch.

Ramor ignored him. “I have eighteen janes that will be fertile in the course of these five days. In my experience, only about half of them will take. Chances will rise if you mate with them more than once, so...” he clapped his hands, “there’s much to do, and we already wasted almost a whole  _ atseht _ . This one here should’ve already been done.”

He turned to the woman. “Get him ready, you know how to do it. Hands or mouth, whatever he likes best.”

Virdon evaded the girl who had risen without a word and was now reaching for him, and backed away from Ramor and his gorillas. He felt strangely calm, as if this whole conversation, and everything else, was happening to someone else. He even contemplated fleetingly if he should educate Ramor that there was just no way a human male could continuously mate with that many women in such a short time. But maybe the apes had even found a solution for that problem...

“I can’t do this,” he heard himself say as if from far away. He knew he had no chance, not with two gorillas in the room, and no window, and only one door, and so many apes in the room and outside the room, so many apes...

Ramor shook his head. “Have it your way, then. Once your animal instinct takes over, you’ll like it well enough.” He nodded to the gorillas, and there wasn’t even much of a struggle, not against four hundred pounds of muscle, each, and suddenly Virdon found himself on his back, the gorillas’ hands like iron bands around his wrists and ankles, and the scent of the girl’s skin all over him, all over him and moving down...

Virdon squeezed his eyes shut and began to pray.

* * *

Despite Len’s warning, Burke had of course felt for the lock of his cage and tried to pry some splinters from the bottom of his cage. But the planks had been hewn from some hard wood, and had been glued together seamlessly. Burke didn’t know if they had been polished by the dozens of bodies shifting around as they tried to find a comfortable position in the damn cage, or if someone had taken the trouble to sand them down, but the result was a perfectly smooth surface that offered no point of attack for his fingernails.

Even after he had given up on digging his way out of his trap, Burke couldn’t find any sleep. Part of it was his own insomnia; part of it was the dimensions of the cage that were too small to let him stretch his legs.

But the biggest part was the fact that he was inside a cage again, made by apes, on a planet ruled by apes. That... that stirred some memories Burke wasn’t eager to revisit.

Instead he tried to focus on planning for his escape, sketching and discarding different scenarios until his eyes burned and finally drooped shut. His sleep was light and fitful, a jumbled mess of memories of Urko’s secret prison and desperate fights in some underground tunnel against invisible attackers. As always in these dreams, Burke was vaguely aware that he was dreaming, but unable to either fight his way back to the surface of waking, nor to sink down into dreamless sleep. When loud banging jerked him awake, he felt wrung out and dizzy, and his headache seemed to have gotten worse.

He rubbed his sandy eyes and pushed himself up on his elbow to see what the noise was all about. A cold gust of morning fog hit his face and kissed him awake completely. Their humble abode had gotten visitors. Burke sat up completely and craned his neck to see what was going on.

A small crowd of apes was strutting down the aisle between the cages, three chimpanzees and a gorilla, taking up as much space as possible, and glancing haughtily down at the humans crouching in the mouldy straw. It wasn’t difficult to spot the leader of the posse: a scar-faced chimpanzee whose gaze was filled with jovial possessiveness, the look of a man who was admiring his collection.

The ape’s eyes fell on his latest acquisition, and Burke felt the old rage flare up inside him. The ape stopped short when he caught his glare, regarded him more closely, and smiled a slow, ironic smile. Then he nodded to his followers. “Let’s see what you dragged in from the sewers. Seems you brought me a rebel.”

Burke tensed when the gorilla bent down to unlock his cage, but he didn’t harbour any illusions about his chances to get past four apes in this confined space. The cage wasn’t big enough to escape the gorilla’s arm, and Burke found himself dragged out by the neck like a wet kitten.

To his embarrassment, the gorilla’s grip proved to be necessary - after being hit over the head, and forced to spend the night in a cage that didn’t let him stretch his legs, Burke found that he was swaying on his feet. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus.

The chimpanzee - Asar, Burke remembered hazily, must be Asar who was inspecting him - frowned at his display of weakness. “Did you break its skull, you idiots?”

“No, boss,” the gorilla rumbled. “But he struggled a lot. Had to club him twice.”

“Hm.” Asar didn’t seem to be convinced. He held up his hand before Burke’s face. “How many fingers?”

“Take your stinking paw outta my face, monkey,” Burke growled.

“And not even housebroken,” Asar grinned. “You know, training these beasts is almost as much fun as taking them to the pits.” He casually backhanded Burke, a motion that still snapped his head around and sent an electric prickle through his sinuses, followed by the sensation of hot blood rushing over his lips and chin.

“Take him outside and exercise him a bit,” Asar said to the gorilla. “You can bring Todan out to play later.”

“Yes, boss,” the gorilla rumbled, and waved for one of Asar’s chimpanzee goons. The ape stepped forward, stretching a short metal chain between his hands. He bent down to shackle Burke’s legs, and Burke played with the thought of kicking his face, but... no. No point in inviting another punch for nothing. He’d get his chance later; they’d unshackle him as soon as Todan would join him to “play.”

He let himself get dragged outside, stumbling from the too-short chain. Behind him, he could hear another cage be opened - that of the kapo.

The sun had come out somewhere above the fog, and the backyard was a gleaming white hell that stabbed his eyes and cranked up his headache.

_ Damn concussion.  _ Burke shook his head, then wished he hadn’t.

The gorilla finally released him, and Burke stumbled another two steps into the middle of the yard before he came to a swaying halt. “Now what, Koko - ‘m I supposed to do my jumping jacks with the irons on?” He nodded at Todan, who was already limbering up.  _ “He _ doesn’t wear them, either.”

“Tha’s because he knows how to behave,” the gorilla grumbled.

“Look,” Burke tried to reason with him. “Your boss wants to win money with me - how’s he supposed to know how good I am if you don’t give me a chance to show you what I’m capable of? I can beat your guy, easily.”

At the other side of the yard, Todan scoffed. He was old enough to show gray strands at the temples, and his face and hands were full of scars.

Burke ignored him. ”But I can’t fight with the damn chains around my legs. I can’t even walk!”

The gorilla hesitated, but couldn’t deny the logic of Burke’s argument, because he bent down to unlock the chains. “If you run, I’m gonna-“

Burke didn’t wait to hear what the thug was going to do if he ran.

He ran.

After three steps, a rocket rammed into his kidneys and made his spine explode. Burke’s knees buckled and he fell facedown into the mud. Another blow crashed into the base of his skull, and Burke knew that this was it.

_ Broke my neck... _

Then everything when white and silent.

When he came to, he was back in his cage, his wrists chained to the bars. The back of his skull was a burning ball of pain, only slightly topped by the pain where his kidneys had been. Now he was grateful that the monkeys hadn’t given him anything to eat; at least he was unable to throw up, although his stomach valiantly tried to climb out of his mouth.

Movement on the other side of the bars pulled him out of his agonized meditation. Burke opened his eyes a bit and squinted at the ape crouching before his cage.

“That was really stupid,” Asar said conversationally. “But I like your spirit. Tulko will bring you water, in a bit, but food will have to wait until after the fight. If you win, you’ll get roasted meat - pigeon, or rat, whatever the kitchen has on offer. If you lose...” He rose.

“If you lose, I won’t have wasted a piece of good meat on you.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning for rape/non-con (last one, promise)

Virdon only knew that the second day of his ordeal had begun because the old chimpanzee woman told him so when she brought him some food.

He refused to eat; his stomach was a hard knot unable to accept anything, even water. The old chimp regarded him for a moment, then left the room. She came back a short while later with a bowl of water and some rags, and began to clean him up. The cold made him flinch at first, but then it was oddly soothing.

After the first woman had finished, the gorillas had tied him to the bedframe and carried her away; none of the women had been allowed to walk away, so as not to lose any of his precious seed. Virdon felt a bout of nausea crawling up his throat at the memory. The whole room stank, of sweat and the women’s arousal... and his own. His own failure, again and again.

“Why are you making this so hard for yourself?” the old chimp said softly, and dipped the rag into the water again. “It’s a natural thing, and the Mothers even made it enjoyable for you. I know we have to tie the janes to the rack sometimes, when they don’t like the jon we selected for them, but I can’t remember that one of the jons ever refused to mate. They’re _competing_ to get selected!”

Virdon didn’t bother to reply. How could this old ape even begin to understand the degradation they inflicted on the humans they forced to mate? How could she understand how abominable the whole concept was? To her, he was an animal - to her, it wasn’t different from breeding horses.

 _Was_ it different from breeding horses?

_It is, it is, I’m not an animal, I’m not-_

The memory of his own reaction overwhelmed him. He hadn’t wanted to react; he had desperately tried to distract himself from what the women had been doing to him, to stay in control... to control at least _this,_ after everything else had been taken out of his hands.

But his body had betrayed him, had reacted to the touches with the blind enthusiasm of an animal, had flooded his brain with endorphins, had made him arch and crest and crash, spend himself again and again, and left him gasping, broken, hating his dumb flesh with a wild despair that he hadn’t thought being capable of.

The rational part of his brain assured him that it wasn’t his fault, no weakness of character, that it was a simple matter of stimulus and response, and that the important thing was that he hadn’t consented to any of it, not even at the height of ecstasy; but it was a fading voice in a howling storm of shame and rage. Virdon couldn’t remember when it had been the last time he cried; maybe when he had held his newborn son in his arms. But tonight, his eyes had watered, ignoring his attempts at self-control just as callously as the rest of his body had.

“Please... untie me...” he finally rasped. His mouth and tongue were dry and sticky - he must’ve sweat out every drop of water in his body.

The chimp shook her head. “You know I can’t do that. You’re a wildling, you’d try to attack me and run. You wouldn’t get far, and I’d get a warning from Ramor.” She patted his cheek. “No need to go through all this trouble for nothing. We’d end up here again, just as we’re now. - Come,” she added, and twisted sideways to reach for something. “At least drink a bit of water. You almost lost your voice.” She held a mug to his mouth and poured a bit of water over his lips, and Virdon couldn’t help but gulp it down. He was so thirsty. Thirsty, and tired, and raw. He had rubbed the skin away on his wrists and ankles as he had struggled against the restraints, and he tried to focus on that burning pain now, to distract himself from the other pains and aches of his body.

The door opened, and one of the gorillas stuck his head in. “You ready? I have the next batch here.”

“He hasn’t eaten,” the chimp said.

“He can eat later,” the gorilla growled, and opened the door a bit wider to usher in the next woman.

Virdon squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see her - didn’t want to know if she had fair hair and blue eyes, a perfect match to his own, making a baby of the same color, one that would earn Ramor a fat pouch of _sembles_ in two years’ time. He drew a painful breath and turned his head to the wall, trying to think of something vivid enough to take his mind out of this room. His whole body felt cold, and numb, except for a prickling sensation brushing over him in waves, like electric current.

The woman’s hands were gliding down his neck, his chest, his stomach, her warm breath following the path of her hands. Virdon frantically conjured up his last mission before the _Icarus -_ placing yet another array of _Hermes_ transmission satellites in the orbit of, of... Mars! The robotic arm of the _Iris_ had malfunctioned, and he had gone out in an EVA...

... the girl’s mouth was on his groin now, and Virdon’s hands clenched into fists, straining against the ropes that kept his arms stretched out above his head...

... he was floating outside the ship now, his EVA gone, and his breath left him in a sudden rush as the icy silence grabbed his body, the unimaginable coldness of the void...

“He’s not getting hard, Tilsa!” The girl’s wet heat retreated. Virdon didn’t move a muscle, not quite trusting his luck.

Maybe... maybe Ramor would kick him out now... since he was unable to perform... He opened his eyes to gauge the apes’ reaction.

“Perhaps he needs to rest a bit more,” the chimp said thoughtfully. “How often did he have to mate last night?”

“One per _atseht_ , but he had to mount them more than once,” the gorilla rumbled from the door. “Or... the other way round,” he added after a pause.

Tilsa shook her head. “I can understand that Ramor wants to get his money’s worth, but there’s such a thing as overstraining.”

“You better get him up and working again,” the gorilla said, unimpressed. “Ramor can get unpleasant if you screw up his schedule.”

“What should I do, Tilsa?” The girl sounded worried now.

Virdon could hear Tilsa’s joints creak as the chimp got slowly to her feet. “Suck harder,” she said dryly. “Or don’t suck so hard. Try different things. I’ll talk to Ramor about this.” She left together with the gorilla, and the girl bent over his crotch again with an aggravated sigh.

Out of nowhere, Burke’s voice floated up in Virdon’s memory, _You can get almost any machine working again if you know where to kick it. Hard,_ and he fought down a hysterical giggle. It came out as a strangled groan instead, and the girl slightly slapped his thigh in response. Virdon suspected that she’d have scolded him, too, if she hadn’t had her mouth full at the moment.

 _I’m not functional anymore, no matter what switch you’re trying to toggle..._ He’d never have thought that he’d feel so elated, so triumphant in such a situation.

The woman gave up after a while, and just sat down at the foot of the bed, knees drawn to her chest, to stare at the door. Virdon supposed he should feel sorry for her - it was perfectly possible that Ramor would hold her responsible for his lack of arousal - but he was too wrung out, and too relieved to have escaped this ordeal, to empathize with her.

She did have fair hair. But she wasn’t looking at him right now, so he couldn’t see the color of her eyes.

The door opened again, and Tilsa returned with a tray in her hands.

“Ramor understands that the jon needs rest,” she said, “but since we’re under a tight schedule, he can’t allow any delays. I wouldn’t have agreed to this, if it was one of our own, one we use continuously,” she added, and put down the tray beside the bed.

Virdon felt his heart beginning to race in his chest. What kind of devilment had they thought of now? He lifted his head to peer at the tray.

A short rope. A syringe with an oily liquid in it.

Virdon felt cold sweat break out all over his body. _They’re going to drug me with_ Blaze.

They had learned of the drug during their stay in the racing stronghold of Sapan, where the drug had been used by unscrupulous kennel owners to drug their racers. But the main clientele were breeders - “helping” their livestock when they were unable to perform.

Tilsa tied the tourniquet around his arm and inspected the syringe. “But since it’s only for a few days, I think it’s responsible. He won’t suffer any damage from it.” She felt for a vein and slid the needle into his arm.

The first sensation was one of heat, as if she was pouring brandy into his blood. The heat spread rapidly, turning into a pleasant, tingling warmth. His skin felt flushed, and sweaty, and suddenly, all his senses sharpened, as if he had woken up from a fuzzy dream.

“Now try again.”

Tilsa’s voice was loud, just like his own rapid breathing. Everything was loud, the rustling of Tilsa’s robe, the creaking of the gorilla’s leather vest, the soft swish as the woman flipped her hair over her shoulder, and Virdon could smell her perfume all of a sudden, something sweet and flowery, but all those sounds and smells were drowned out by the intense heat and tension coursing through his own body now. He felt restless, struggling against his restraints again, but without any thought of escape this time.

All his horror and revulsion were melting away, replaced by nothing but painful arousal clamoring for relief. It was burning through his limbs, making him gasp and groan and beg, wiping out all conscious thought. Somewhere far away from him, someone removed his fetters. He rolled around and got halfway to his knees, reaching for the sweet scent, the softness...

Woman, woman, woman...

And then no thoughts at all.

* * *

For once, Peet had made a sensible suggestion, Galen thought absently as he hurried through the dark streets of Etissa - in these parts, it was just a basic necessity to be armed to the teeth whenever one stepped outside one’s door. It was a miracle that they had gone by without any weapons for so long at all... and if Peet hadn’t stolen Betsy after Alan had been injured, they’d never have reached this Mothers-forsaken place at all.

Peet. Smart-mouthed, recalcitrant, and all around insufferable. Galen hoped that wherever he was now, he’d have the good sense to curb his natural insubordination and lay low until they had found him.

Time was of the essence - Peet wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it, which it probably did right now. That was the reason why Galen was now headed to the _Etissan Herold_ after dark _,_ scurrying from one fog-filled, swirling pool of yellow lamplight to the next, fingers clenched around the hilt of the hand-gun under his robe. He only let go of it after he had crossed the threshold of the newspaper, relaxing his shoulders that he had hunched up without realizing it.

He was late; most of the desks were already deserted, and the only sounds - an oddly monotonous, mechanical stomping - came from some building across the yard, muffled by the shutters that someone was closing over the windows from outside. Galen stood in the aisle between the rows of desks, rubbing his numb hands, and wondered if he should try his luck the following morning instead. But Zana had been so devastated, so desperate to do _something,_ immediately, that he didn’t have the heart to return to the inn empty-handed.

As if on cue, an elderly Chimpanzee, who looked as if his skin was too large for his body, poked his head through the door at the opposite end of the room. “We’re already closed for the day,” he said. “Whatever scandalous story you have to tell will have to wait until tomorrow’s evening paper.”

“Ah, ah, no,” Galen stuttered. “I only wanted to place an ad... my human has gone missing. There’ll be a reward,” he added reluctantly; Zana had insisted on that, arguing that the people in this town needed an incentive to help them.

“Ah. Well,” the Chimp muttered, “maybe I can still fit it in, if it’s not too big. The printers just started.” He waved Galen closer. “Pesky beasts, always running off when you’re not looking. Come in, before my tea gets cold.” He vanished into his office again without waiting for him.

 _My human hasn’t run off - he was abducted,_ Galen wanted to say, but the words died on his lips as he stepped across the threshold.

This was apparently the chief editor’s office, judging by the luxurious interior - maybe this wrinkly Chimp was even the owner of the newspaper. A broad leather armchair was pushed back behind a huge desk made from a reddish wood that Galen had never seen before. The light of several brass lamps was softened to a green tint by glass lampshades; and their light source weren’t candles, but gas burners, something Galen hadn’t come across since his days in the City. Not even Olman had used them. A big brass sign on the desk read “Apitis Latis.” A human stood at attention behind the desk, staring straight ahead with an empty expression.

And he was muzzled.

Latis rounded his desk and sat down, almost vanishing in his huge armchair. He waved impatiently at the human, and the slave hurried to get another cup for Galen. “So, when did your human run away? And I need a description. Male, female, old, young, dark, light, any unusual features?”

Galen stared at the human, who was now pouring him tea. The creature’s eyes were fixed on his cup, completely focused on its task. The muzzle was strapped tight - the poor beast had to clench its teeth all the time. It was... unusual. Humans were only muzzled when they had proven to be dangerous. But this one seemed to be perfectly housebroken. One wouldn’t use a dangerous human to serve tea...

Latis harrumphed. “Your human’s description?”

“Ah, ah... yes. Yes. I’m sorry, I was...” Galen gestured at the human, who had taken up position behind his master’s desk again. “Is he dangerous?”

Latis frowned. “What? Him? No. Do you think I’d tolerate dangerous humans in my office?”

“But he’s muzzled,” Galen pointed out.

Latis waved his hand. “I don’t need them yapping all day, hurts my ears. Animals shouldn’t speak, it’s not right. I told our resident breeder he should start making mute humans - they’d make fantastic prices. I’d buy them in a heartbeat.” He wheezed a laugh, and Galen smiled weakly.

“So you, uh, muzzle all your humans?” Galen just couldn’t believe it. He remembered that he had suggested to Zana that Peet might need a muzzle and a leash after they had rescued him from Urko, because Peet had been so... so erratic back then. But he hadn’t had a mental picture of what that would’ve looked like on the human.

Now he had that picture, right before his eyes, and he found he didn’t like it very much.

“All of them, all the time,” Latis said curtly. “Except for feeding. It’s a blessing for the ears. You know, I heard that some people call humans ‘frogs’ because they croak all day. Not _my_ humans - I drained the swamp.”

 _Yes, I’m sure you only ‘heard’ that,_ Galen thought wryly, and sipped at his tea. _About ‘some people’. You wouldn’t call a human that, oh no, you’re much too cultured to use slurs._

Not too cultured for muzzling his humans, though.

“I always say a human needs three things,” Latis continued, warming to the subject. “A muzzle, a leash, and the crop. Otherwise, they immediately try to take over your household. Vicious beasts, but so useful.”

They had been in Kira’s laboratory, Galen remembered - Zana and him, when he had suggested they muzzle Peet.

And put him on a leash.

Galen rubbed his hands over his knees and consciously averted his gaze from the human. “So, uh... yes. My human. He didn’t come home the previous day, after I had sent him to the market for some errands...”

“And it promptly ran away,” Latis growled. “Pains me to say it, but you can’t send a human anywhere without supervision - and never give them money, or you won’t see either ever again.”

Ann had sent Mouna to the market almost every day. She had even sent her to the bank, when she needed money for some bigger purchase. And nobody had ever muzzled Mouna, or any of his father’s other humans.

Well, none of them had ever drawn a knife against him - even if Peet hadn’t recognized him in that moment.

But then none of his father’s humans had ever suffered in Urko’s dungeon. And Peet _had_ gotten better with time... a bit... although his wit had become more caustic, and his anger more... more...

“Ah, he wore a blue shirt,” Galen forced himself to focus on the actual purpose of his visit, “and a tan vest...” He quickly described Peet’s appearance, suddenly eager to escape this room.

Latis scribbled down his description, stated the prize, and gave him a receipt for his _sembles_ with the assurance that his ad would indeed already appear in the morning edition of the _Etissan Herold._ “And if your human doesn’t turn up, we have a very reputable breeder here in Etissa, I can give you his card...” He started digging in one of his drawers.

“That’s not necessary,” Galen said, rising. “I’m sure my human will return to me. He is...” His eyes were drawn to the human in the corner again, mute and unmoving.

_No, Peet isn’t fond of me. He has no reason to be._

“He’s very fond of my wife,” Galen said with a rueful smile. “He wouldn’t abandon her. I’ll see myself out. Thank you for your time. Talking to you was... enlightening.”

Galen took a deep breath when he stepped outside the front door of the newspaper. For the first time since they had entered Etissa, he welcomed the darkness of its streets. It made him feel as if he could vanish in its shadows, and reach the inn undetected, though he didn’t know whose eyes he was trying to escape.

Maybe his own.


	10. Chapter 10

As the day crept by, from light gray to dark gray outside the window, the pain in Burke’s head and back eased up bit by bit, and with the clarity in his head, his annoyance at himself grew, too.

_ Good job messing up your only chance of escape, idiot. What was that about taking the damn kapo into account? _

He should never have turned his back at the bastard. But the guy had been on the other side of the yard, and the alley had only been a few steps away...

Maybe they had baited him on purpose.

Burke shifted around, trying to find a position where his kidneys wouldn’t try to claw their way out of his back. The gorilla had brought him a bowl of water earlier, but hadn’t unshackled his hands, and the chain was too short to pick up the bowl, so Burke had been forced to lap up the water like a dog. He’d even had the option of breakfast - the kid had chucked a slice of his nut bread into Burke’s cage when their kapo hadn’t been looking. But with his wrists chained to the bars, he hadn’t been able to catch it, and he wasn’t yet hungry enough to dig it out of the soiled straw and eat it.

He shifted around some more, and kicked against the wall of his cage in frustration. This whole setup reminded him more and more of his time with Urko - the purposefully too-small cage, the chains, the humiliation of feeding him like a dog...

_ Now be fair, at least they give you something to drink here. _

... and then send him out to get himself killed in some underground fight club. Burke hoped that Virdon had gotten a better assignment than him.

Surviving this night would be tough. He still had a concussion, which was slowing down his reflexes and dulling his perception - or scarface wouldn’t have been able to tackle him -, and spending two days in a tiny crate had cramped up his muscles. From what he had been able to see during the daylight hours, both Len and scarface had bigger cages than him. Maybe the confinement was meant to break a prisoner’s will.

_ You need a few more weeks and a broom to get anywhere with me... _

But he sure hoped that Zana and Al... and okay, Galen... would’ve found him before that point. Burke was pretty sure that Zana was already lighting a fire under Galen’s ass; and she had proven that she was a damn fine sleuth in Sapan, so maybe he still had a chance... if he survived tonight’s fight. And maybe he’d get a bigger cage, too, if he won, and get himself in better shape - then he’d see if he couldn’t find another chance to escape. Burke was getting tired of being rescued again and again. It was becoming something like a bad habit.

The sound of the bolt ratcheting outside the main door pulled him out of his brooding. Burke threw a quick glance to the window: the light outside had taken on an indigo tint.

_ Showtime. _

The steps moved past the kapo’s cage and stopped in front of his. Burke hastily got on his knees to avoid being dragged out into the aisle on his belly when the door opened. He had a feeling that they wouldn’t unchain him from the door first.

His suspicion proved to be correct, although that safety measure wouldn’t have been necessary - his legs were numb and tingling and he doubted he’d be able to get up on his own. Still, one of Asar’s goons was aiming a gun at him while the gorilla bent down and finally opened his shackles. Burke bit back a grin. If they needed to take him out at gunpoint, he must’ve appeared less crappy than he felt.

The gorilla pulled him to his feet and put the irons on him again - this time, his wrists were bound behind his back, and his ankles were chained, too.

_ Jus’ need an orange jumper and a sexy lawyer now... _

He would’ve preferred to walk all the way to the fighting pit to get some life back into his legs, but he was pushed into a covered cart that was parked in the yard. The platform swayed a bit, as the gorilla and the gun-toting chimp joined him.

“You gotta muzzle him,” Burke heard the chimp mutter. “Can’t have him howling in the streets.”

The gorilla grumbled something under his breath, and jumped from the wagon again. He returned a moment later, and roughly dragged a leather mask over Burke’s head that painfully clamped his jaw shut. Burke faintly remembered from his days in Zana’s institute that the things were adjustable, but Koko here apparently didn’t want to take any chances.

They were rolling through the streets for a surprisingly long time, always upslope. If this town was built like Sapan, that meant they were heading for the supposedly better parts of Etissa. At least the air was getting better, though Burke had his doubts about the residents.

The wagon was crunching fine gravel, by the sound of it, then the sounds stopped altogether - they were rolling over grass now. Probably under a rich asshole’s tree-house. Burke didn’t get to admire the view when they stopped and dragged him out, though - the gorilla put a bag over is head and he was led, stumbling and with a pounding heart, into a building.

They removed the bag before he succumbed to the panic; sucking in deep breaths through his leather muzzle, Burke blinked rapidly and tried to orient himself.

He was standing in a paddock - no, he was indoors. A riding hall. Perfect for this kind of shit - a sandy underground, ample space, only one gate that was heavily guarded, and even stands to one side, where apes were already jostling each other for the best seats. Even more apes were milling about in the arena itself, inspecting the fighters, or giving their own fighter a last quick massage, and last instructions.

Asar did neither; he was talking to an orangutan in a plum-colored robe who was apparently the owner of this fine establishment. Burke tried not to stare at him - save for Zaius, he hadn’t seen another orangutan since they had left the City. The buggers were notoriously reclusive, preferring to lead from behind. To see one of them hosting an illegal fighting match was mind-blowing.

Well, if he got paid a commission by every ape providing a fighter, and entrance fees from the spectators... Burke suspected he was making a nice buck on the side. Didn’t necessarily mean he was interested in the spectacle itself.

The orangutan left, confirming his theory, and Asar returned to his side.

“What’s that drowned rat you dragged in here, Asar?” one of the other patrons hollered at him. The other apes laughed.

“Fresh catch from the road,” Asar called back.

“More like roadkill,” the other clown replied, and the crowd howled with laughter.

Asar just smiled, and ruffled Burke’s hair. “We’ll see.” He muttered a quick instruction to the gorilla, and the ape pulled Burke to the far wall of the arena and began to briskly rub down his arms and legs.

Burke tried to tell him to get rid of the damn shackles so that he could do some stretches, at least, but the muzzle mercilessly forced his jaw together and muffled whatever sounds he was able to produce. He really sounded like an animal now, and after a few attempts to make himself understood, he gave up with a frustrated growl.

The gorilla ignored him, but to Burke’s relief, took off the muzzle after he had finished his perfunctory massage. In the background, the apes had already formed a circle around the first two humans and were cheering on their favorites.

“Look, if you wanna make money with me, try again some other night,” Burke said quickly. “You knocked me out cold, and I’m still dizzy, an’...”

“No worries,” the gorilla rumbled. “Asar got you an easy kill.”

Burke stared at him for a moment. “Easy kill, huh,” he said when he had found his voice again. “The kid said you also win if the other taps out...”

“Tha’s because he’s still in training,” the gorilla said. He patted Burke’s shoulder. “You don’ need training.”

“You always need training,” Burke said weakly. Jesus Christ, they really expected him to climb into the ring and kill some stranger with his bare hands for no reason... other than money, of course.

_Kill, or be killed._ He could faintly hear the slaps and grunts of the fighters over the howling and cheering of the apes. _How the hell am I gonna get out of this?_

The crowd erupted in cheers and hisses, and opened up quickly to let the human stumble out and towards his owners. Burke couldn’t see the other one, but the fact that only one human left the fight on his feet told him enough.

“Your turn,” the gorilla said, and shoved him towards the waiting apes.

Eager faces turned towards him, not quite human, but similar enough to look hideously disfigured; they stared at him, some excited, some calculating, all of them thirsting for his blood, his pain, his killing rage. As Burke stumbled between them, the scent of sweat and blood from the first fight engulfed him, caught among the tightly packed bodies of the spectators.

_ I don’t wanna kill... I wanna kill on my own terms... _

The crowd closed behind him. The space they left for the fighters was surprisingly small. Not big enough for evading, regrouping, drawing out a fight - the humans were forced to fight at close quarters, get into contact immediately, and stay at it until one went down.

... and then finish him there.

Burke flexed his fingers and placed his feet. No matter how much he loathed this whole situation, he was determined not to be the one they dragged out by the ankles.

_ If someone’s gotta die tonight, it won’t be me. _

The crowd opposite of him parted, and his opponent was ushered in. He took up position immediately, fists up, and shaking like a leaf.

Burke gaped at him.

The boy couldn’t be older than fourteen; he wasn’t as wiry as Len was - in fact, Burke thought he could detect a bit of baby fat in the boy’s face. He was staring at him with huge, watery eyes. 

_ Trying not to piss his pants,  _ Burke realized.  _ Fucking Cesar, they threw a Chihuahua into the pit with me!  _ Probably nabbed him from some rich ape lady, the poor bastard.

He let his hands sink to his sides and relaxed. “I’m not gonna fight you,” he told the kid.

The boy didn’t give any indication that he had heard him. Burke didn’t even bring up his arms again to block him, as he swung a desperate hit against his ribs. The kid had no idea how to fight. Burke doubted he’d know how to kill him even if they had left his irons and the muzzle on.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he called to the laughing apes.

“Kill it! Kill it! Make it bleed!” the crowd howled.

Burke stared at them with disgust. For once, he was out of curses - ‘fucking monkeys’ was way too tame for this spectacle from hell. The boy lunged at him again, and he sidestepped him. He could keep this up all night, or until they pitted him against someone who could at least defend himself.

The laughter and cheering gave way to boos and hisses. “What?” Burke yelled, “Are you not entertained?” He evaded yet another badly-aimed swing at his ribs, and quickly ruffled the boy’s hair. “Not gonna happen tonight, gents - I don’t kill babies!”

The apes were getting restless now; angry voices were demanding their money back, or to kill the damn beast for disobedience, or both. Asar’s gorilla was plowing through the upset apes towards him. Burke eyed him warily and fell into a fighting stance.

“Asar wants to talk to you,” the gorilla muttered, and shoved him through the throng of enraged spectators.

The chimp was lounging against the wall, looking deceptively relaxed; only his tight smile betrayed his anger. “Seems there’s a bit of a misunderstanding going on,” he said as soon as Burke was in hearing range. “Didn’t Tulko tell you what you’re supposed to do?”

“That’s a kid in there,” Burke said. “Doesn’t even know how to fight. Did you steal him from his ape missus’ lap?”

Asar grinned. “Kinda. It’s a greeting card for her husband. Now go back and kill it. You’re costing me money.”

“It’s not even a fight,” Burke protested.

“And here I thought I was being nice, since you’re still not up to your game with your concussion,” Asar said with raised brows.

“I don’t kill children,” Burke said, his heart beating wildly against his ribs.

Asar’s smile tightened even more, until it was as thin as a blade. “You kill whatever I tell you to kill.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Before Burke could react, Asar had him by the throat. “Now listen carefully,” the ape growled, his face an inch away from Burke’s. “You go back in there and kill that cub, or I’ll go and break you little friend’s neck when we get back.”

He released Burke just as suddenly. “Your choice which one of them dies tonight.”

Tulko’s grip around his arm was like iron, but Burke didn’t really feel it - like the howls and jeers of the crowd, and the cold light of the gas lamps that were hanging overhead, it was dim and far away. His head was empty; he couldn’t think, couldn’t decide.

_ Your choice which of them dies. _

The kid was openly crying now - maybe he had seen a decision in his face that Burke wasn’t yet aware of himself. He stared into the pale, pudgy face.

_ I’m gonna make it quick,  _ he silently promised the boy.  _ You won’t feel a thing. _

There would be no show. No blood. Burke sidestepped the next lunge, grabbed the boy’s head, and broke his neck with one swift motion.

The apes howled with glee.

Then Asar was there all of a sudden, in a cluster of apes who were snarling in Burke’s face - grinning, he realized distantly - and there were a lot of hands all over him, petting him like a dog.

Like the good dog he was.

* * *

When Virdon remembered his name again, it was dark. Dark and silent, and nobody in the room but him.

At least, his breathing was the only sound he could hear.

He was lying on his belly, on the bed. His whole body was tingling, whether from the drug, or from the sweat drying on his back, he couldn’t say.

The sheets under him were sticky. Soiled.

_ He _ was...

He was thirsty. Maybe they had left some water beside the bed.

After some indefinite time, he had gathered enough of his will to lift his head and feel around in the darkness until he found a mug and a pitcher. Water.

The water was good.

He tried to avoid thinking as long as possible, because with the thoughts, the memories would come back, and the feelings.

But this first tendril of awareness had already been too much. He remembered what he had done.

He hadn’t gone away. He had stopped thinking - and the drug had made that so easy - but with the ability to think, his ability to project himself somewhere else had also fled. He had been there, in the room, in the women, more present than he had been at any other time, freed from the distractions of a thinking, judging, distancing mind.

_ That’s what being an animal is like - not unconscious, just unthinking. _

_ They did it. They really did it. If they gave everyone Blaze, all the time, they wouldn’t even be lying when they call us animals. _

When he listened inside himself, the strongest feeling wasn’t shame, or disgust, or gut-wrenching despair, although all of these were present, sharp and piercing, as if he had swallowed a bag of knives.

But the strongest feeling was disbelief. He had fought in a war. He had been the commander of more than one space ship. He was a married man, father of two children. A grown-up man of forty-six years. A  _ man. _

_ How could something like this  _ happen  _ to me? _

Men had been raped by other men. But... this...

_ Maybe the drug didn’t take my will away. Maybe I just found it easier to stop resisting, to use the drug as an excuse to give in to my baser instincts. _

He slowly sat up, every fiber of his body aching, and buried his head in his hands.

_ Maybe I wanted it, too. It’s been so long... _

To his horror, he felt his eyes getting wet again.

_ I  _ didn’t _ want it. It didn’t feel like joining with a woman, like... like penetration. It felt like being devoured by them, swallowed whole, taken... _

But it had felt good, every time he had come.

_ Of course it had, it’s a part of the whole... the whole process. It’s nature. It’s unavoidable. _

It didn’t matter what he told himself. The feeling of failure grew with every passing moment. He had failed his own values; he had failed in his attempts at self-control.

He had failed Sally.

Virdon shied away from the memory of her. He couldn’t look into the eyes of his wife, not even in his imagination. He wasn’t sure he could face  _ anyone, _ ever again.

_ I know how this could’ve happened to me,  _ he thought bitterly.  _ I failed to put down some ground rules with Galen beforehand. Such as every deal needing my consent... establishing a code, to keep up appearances... Instead I kept up appearances by behaving exactly like any human slave on this God-forsaken planet. _

_ I’ve become one of their man-beasts. I shouldn’t complain if they treat me like one. _

He rose, shame making him restless. It was too dark to see anything, but he started pacing nonetheless, one hand at the wall to keep himself from tripping over the sparse furniture.

This world had imprinted on him - all those rules, spoken and unspoken, that overwhelming consensus about his species... he hadn’t guarded against it, he hadn’t fought it at every turn, and as a result, it had taken over his spirit, and had defeated him from within.

_ The enemy isn’t at the gates. He’s already inside the walls, poisoning the well... _

_ I deserve this. I wasn’t vigilant. I let this happen.  _ He punched the wall in helpless rage. Now it was too late. The damage had already been done. If he’d half-heartedly planned to pick the lock and escape under cover of the dark when he had risen from the place of his defeat, that intent wilted under the bleak realization that escape was pointless by now. It wouldn’t make a difference anymore. He could as well bear the remaining measure of this torture, as a fitting punishment for his former complacency.

He’d just have to make sure that none of the others ever learned the truth about his five days in hell.


	11. Chapter 11

If his childhood had taught Burke one thing, it was to never look back, not even on the past hour. That made going to school - and going home - a lot more bearable. For someone who had never managed the art of keeping his head down and his mouth shut, compartmentalizing was the prime survival tactic.

While the cart rumbled down the long, long slope from Etissa’s finest quarter to its worst, Burke didn’t dwell on the evening, or on the boy, or on that last, horrible moment when he had

_murdered a child_

done what he had to do to save Len’s neck. He focused on his plans of escape. It was the only sensible thing to do now. Crying over that kid wouldn’t bring him back. And considering this place, that was maybe for the best.

Maybe he’d need a few more days to figure out the apes’ routine. Maybe he wouldn’t wait that long - he already knew that the gorilla - Tulko? - was the zookeeper of their little circus, while the two chimps were Asar’s bodyguards.

And then there was Todan, of course, the little shithead. Monkey-lover. They had a word for people like him, back in the bad old times.

He’d probably have to take out Todan first. Burke didn’t mind that too much. He still owed the bastard one for smashing his kidneys.

His chance to escape wouldn’t come during the transports - they were too well guarded, and the apes would probably tie him up like a Christmas present every time they carted him to a match. No, he’d have to bolt during training, when they had no choice but to let him out without the chains.

Of course they’d know that, too. Burke hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with an armed sentry. Maybe he could use Todan as a shield, and throw a knife...

Burke’s fantasies were interrupted when Tulko grabbed him by the neck and hauled him off the wagon. They had already reached their dingy backyard again.

_Home, sweet home._

Tulko lit a lantern when they entered the shack, and in the dim yellow light, Burke saw that Asar was there, too. It made him a bit wary - the thug had no reason to be here for the cleanup and the feeding.

Well, hopefully there would be a feeding.

Asar nodded at one of the chimps, who went and unlocked Len’s kennel. The boy sat up with sleepy eyes, straw sticking in his hair.

“Get out,” Asar said, “Killer here gets your box.”

Burke watched as the boy crawled out of his kennel and blinked up at the ape. For some reason, his heart was in his throat all of a sudden. But he was still wearing the muzzle, and couldn’t say anything.

“Do I get another box?” Len was asking.

Asar walked behind him and put his hands on his shoulders. “Even better.” He smiled at Burke.

Then he took Len’s head into his hands and broke his neck with the same quick motion that Burke had used in his fight.

The boy collapsed without a sound.

“Never disobey me again,” Asar said, and now the smile was gone from his face and his voice. “Or I’ll find ways to hurt you that you can’t even imagine.”

They took off his chains, shoved him into Len’s cage, and left.

For a long time, Burke just knelt in the straw, on his hands and knees just like he had fallen down, and tried to calm his breathing. Tried to focus on his breath, listening to the air streaming into him, and out again. When Tulko had taken off his muzzle, Burke had thought that he’d howl and yell, scream out his rage and frustration, but he was mute; he couldn’t make a single sound.

_I killed that other kid for nothing._

_If I’d refused to kill the kid, he’d killed Len, and someone else would’ve killed the kid._

_If I’d done as he’d said from the beginning, I’d have been a fucking baby killer._

_But I did what he said, so I_ am _a baby killer._

_And now Len’s dead, too._

His thoughts began to tangle up at this point, trying to find a gap in that loop, some way he could’ve saved at least one of those boys, and his integrity, and finding none. He tried to stop thinking at all. Focus on the breath. Listen to the breath.

When he returned his attention to his breath, he heard himself sobbing.

* * *

When Tilsa returned, Virdon had knocked her out, killed her, or used her as hostage several times over, in a dozen different scenarios. Despite his self-damnation, he still felt obliged to at least check the possibility of escape.

But whatever scenario he chose, it always ended with him being hunted down by a horde of ape security. Virdon knew that realistically, he stood no chance to escape Ramor’s compound and find his way back to the inn, naked and still drugged, before either Ramor’s gorillas, or someone from the town watch would capture him and bring him back to this room.

And if he made it back to the inn against all odds, he’d have to explain to Galen and Zana why he couldn’t go back to Galen’s ‘business partner.’ That, more than anything else, made him retreat mutely towards the wall when the door opened.

Still, he felt oddly relieved when the two gorilla guards filed into the room after the old chimp woman. He was outnumbered and outmuscled again, no chance to even lay a hand on Tilsa. So it wasn’t his cowardice, or resignation, that prevented him from attempting escape - it really wasn’t feasible.

Tilsa lit the lamp hanging from the wall, and regarded him critically in the blooming light. “Will you behave like a normal human male today, or do we have to give you the medicine again?”

“I’ll never consent to this,” Virdon said. His voice was rough and it was painful to speak. He didn’t know if it was a side effect of _Blaze -_ maybe he’d lose his voice completely over the next days, if they injected the cursed substance into his body again and again. Maybe it’d irreversibly turn him into an animal - thoughtless, mute, forever horny...

Tilsa shook her head. “I hope your cubs won’t inherit your stubbornness and rebellious nature.”

_I hope they will._

At Tilsa’s nod, the gorillas grabbed him again, one forcing him to his knees, the other stretching out his arm for the next injection. Tilsa had already brought her tray with her, not expecting his cooperation, and quickly tied the tourniquet around his upper arm.

Virdon realized that he was shaking uncontrollably. In a moment, the drug would enter his system, spreading its heat through his body, getting _him_ into heat, and his senses would be thrown wide open, become more acute, more powerful than they were at any other time; the way his far ancestors might have experienced their primordial world. His rational mind would melt away, and only that bright, unbroken awareness would remain, unfettered by the considerations of civilisation - morals, self-control, fidelity...

And he didn’t know anymore if he feared or craved that experience.

“You should know,” Tilsa said as she inserted the needle into his arm, “that some humans develop a yearning for the medicine. I’d find it safer for you if you mated with our janes without its help.”

Virdon gritted his teeth and waited. Tilsa sighed and began to press down the plunger.

The door opened and another chimpanzee stuck his head in. “Change of plans, Tilsa - Ramor wants to see the jon in his office. Seems its owner turned up and wants it back all of a sudden.”

Relief and panic flooded Virdon in equal measure as he felt the drug’s heat creep up his to his armpit and down into his fingertips. For a fleeting moment he saw himself stumbling into Ramor’s office, mute and aroused, mindlessly seeking release.

The heat he felt right now might have been _Blaze,_ or embarrassment.

Tilsa muttered a curse and pulled the needle out of his arm. She pressed a finger on the puncture, and inspected her syringe. “If you had come a moment later, I’d have told you that we’d need to let the medicine take its course first. But this amount...” She pondered her syringe for a moment.

“Take him to the bathroom,” she decided after a moment. “Make him take a bath to clean himself up - and use cold water! I’ll be there in a moment.”

Virdon had no idea how much _Blaze_ she had already injected, but the heat that was pulsing through his body and into his groin felt as intense as the day before. He hoped the cold water would help - he was still able to think, so maybe Tilsa had been right, and he still had a chance to step back from that cliff.

The gorillas didn’t give him time to adjust to the water’s temperature; they pushed him into the empty bathtub and emptied buckets of cold water over him until the tub was full, then left the room.

The cold was like an electrical shock; after Virdon had stopped coughing and grunting, he reached for the soap and cloth and scrubbed himself down.

He had read somewhere that rape victims often developed a cleaning obsession, scrubbing themselves raw in an attempt to remove the feeling of being soiled by the crime. He didn’t feel that urge... he was just glad to have water and soap.

But then he was a man. Men couldn’t get raped by women... could they?

He hadn’t had any control over his erection. It was sadly ironic - many men couldn’t get one despite wanting to sleep with their wife or girlfriend, and he, who desperately _hadn’t_ wanted to sleep with any of these women...

_I am truly blessed._

The door opened again, and Tilsa entered. Virdon looked up tiredly - after all they had put him through, being seen naked by an ape had dropped far down on his list of things he felt embarrassed about.

“Your clothes,” Tilsa said. “They’ve been cleaned, too. And drink this tea, it counteracts some of the effects of the medicine.” She put a mug with a steaming liquid on the stool beside the bathtub and pushed a bundle of clothes into his arms, then left.

Virdon climbed out of the tub, toweled himself off, and put his clothes on. Every sensation was still painfully intense - the cold of the water, the softness of the towel, the weight of his vest... he forced the tea down, hoping that it would dull his senses a bit, at least his sense of touch.

On his way to Ramor’s office, Tilsa led him into his room again, where yet another “jane” quickly took care of the last of the drug’s effects, and then he was out in the cold morning between the buildings of Ramor’s breeding facility, squinting against the sunlight that was turning the fog into sheets of blinding white, stumbling towards a mighty tree with a spiky trunk.

The spikes were planks, he saw when they got closer - winding around the trunk, with no railing or risers between the treads. He felt dizzy just by looking at it, but the gorilla dragged him onwards and began to climb the stairs with him in tow. Virdon kept as close as possible to the trunk, using it as a sort of handrail. He only breathed easily again when stairs ended in some kind of corridor, although he doubted that the woven walls would be able to stop anyone’s fall.

The gorilla ushered him on, until they reached a richly decorated door. His guard opened it without knocking and simply deposited him in the room, then left.

Ramor was sitting behind a desk, and the look he gave him made Virdon’s stomach churn. The slow smile of the ape mocked him, telling him _I owned you more intimately than anyone else ever has._

Aloud, Ramor just said, “There he is, whole and hale. You were acting as if I was sending him into a pit full of bushcats.”

Galen turned around and Virdon froze under his gaze _._

Galen knew.

Galen knew what Ramor was. What had happened here, for the past two days... or had it been three? Virdon had lost his sense of time in that windowless room.

The shame was so intense that Virdon felt ill. He had to get out of this room, away from Ramor, away from Galen, away from everyone.

Galen must’ve seen it in his eyes, because he averted his gaze and just said, “Let’s go.”

At the foot of the tree, he finally broke his silence.

He told him about Pete.


	12. Chapter 12

**Present time**

When Alan returned to the inn, he looked ready to bowl over. Zana hurried to him and took him by the arm. “Mothers, Alan, you look terrible! Sit down, I’ll make you some tea.”

“I just had soup, I don’t think I want any more liquid right now,” Alan murmured, but he sat down on the chair with a heavy thump.

Zana hovered by his side, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. She very much wanted to ask him what had happened at that Chimp’s house that had left him in such a disheveled state, but Alan wouldn’t tell her without patient prodding, and that needed time she sadly didn’t have right now.

“Did you find the human who had Peet’s knife?” she asked instead, and sat down across from him.

Alan nodded. “He’s the leader of a gang of street kids - and a tough negotiator. I had to buy the answers to my questions about Pete with soup and meat. And I had only enough _sembles_ to pay for one question.”

“What did you learn?” Zana asked, worried.

“That Pete was assaulted by three apes.” Alan tiredly rubbed his neck. “They knocked him out and dragged him away with a bag over his head. They way the boy described it to me, Pete had no chance. He never even saw them coming. They jumped him from above.”

“Who took him?” Zana clenched her fists under the table. “Bounty hunters? Urko’s men? Or these criminals who use humans for illegal fights?”

“I don’t know,” Alan said, looking even more tired than before. “I didn’t have any more _sembles_ left to buy me another answer.”

“You’ll get more,” Zana promised, and rose from the table. Then she hesitated.

Alan was pale and… haggard, as if had lost weight during those three days. Hadn’t they fed him? What had they made him _do?_ He looked completely wrung out, and Zana didn’t like the way he was avoiding her gaze. It reminded her too much of the way Peet had avoided looking at her and Galen, after they had rescued him from Urko and Vanda.

It reminded her of how she herself had wanted to curl up in bed and just... vanish, after that terrible incident in the ruined human city. How she hadn’t wanted Galen to sit at her bed and hold her hand, or touch her at all. Or talk to her.

_I really shut him out completely. And then I complained when he retreated into the taverns of Sapan..._

“You know I’ve been searching for Peet nonstop since he vanished,” she said, “and I’m the last person to take this lightly, but you won’t go back to these street humans right away. You’ll lay down and get some sleep. At least for two _atseht._ It’ll still be light outside when you wake up again, but you _need_ some rest. What in the white wastes did they _do_ to you there? I’ve never seen you so... distraught.”

She saw his adam’s apple jump as he swallowed. He still didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m fine. I’ve been working overtime before, I can power through. And for Pete, time is of the essence.”

_Stop avoiding me!_

Zana drew a carefully measured breath. _Patience,_ she reminded herself, _patience and persistence... and subtlety are the keys to this stubborn human’s secrets._

 _If only I had the_ time _for them now!_

Aloud, she just said, “Yes, it is - and if you break down in the streets, or get assaulted like he was because you’re too tired to notice the danger, we won’t have won anything, and neither will Peet. Once we know where he is, we need to come up with a plan anyway. So be sensible and go to bed, or do I have to order you to go?”

Alan drew a slow, measured breath and leaned back in his seat; then he looked up and finally met her gaze, and Zana was struck how cool and detached he seemed all of a sudden. It reminded her yet again that Alan had been a soldier in his own time - and a man who made his own decisions.

“I appreciate your concern, Zana,” he said. “Really, I do. But I know my limits, and I won’t break down in the streets. I’m not _that_ exhausted. I can get all the sleep I need once we’ve found Pete. I’ve made a connection with these kids; I need to exploit that as long as it still exists. In their world, promises are quickly forgotten.”

With a last worried glance at him, Zana went to get him more money. “Will you talk to me when this is over?” she asked when she gave him the money pouch.

Alan had already risen and was halfway to the door. He took the pouch from her hand and smiled down at her, and Zana was struck by the sadness in his eyes. He softly touched her cheek.

“You’re a good person, Zana,” he said quietly. “Such a good person. It... keeps me from despairing over your people.” He let his hand fall to his side. “But there’s nothing to talk about. It was hard work, but now it’s over. And I want to focus on finding Pete, and then on finding a safe place for you to settle down.”

Zana felt her throat constrict with emotion, an answering sadness to the one she saw in Alan’s face. “For me?”

Alan smiled his faint smile. “For you and Galen.”

“What... what about you? And Peet?” For some reason, Zana had always seen them together in that house they would buy. All four of them. Even though she knew how desperately Alan wanted to go home, to his own family.

But hearing him say it was different. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.

“You know we... I can’t give up searching for a way home,” Alan said, and now his gaze turned inward, as if he was reviewing something painful. “I need to... be sure that there really is no way home for me anymore. And Pete said he’d come with me.” He smiled wryly. “Said someone needs to keep an eye on me.”

“And if you don’t find a way,” Zana said, fighting to hold back tears, “will you come home to us then?”

“If I’m absolutely sure that there is no way back for me,” Alan said hesitantly, “then I’ll be grateful that someone has made a place in their home for me.”

Zana sniffed and patted his arm. “Well, see that you get all the answers from those street humans this time.” She turned her back to him and shuffled to the stove to make herself some tea. She couldn’t look at him right now, or she’d start sobbing like a little girl.

She didn’t turn around until she heard the soft click of the door.

* * *

Galen tried not to calculate how much of his money was left after he had commissioned twenty ‘wanted’ posters with a local ‘artist’, on top of the ‘missing human’ ad that had already cost him over seventy _sembles_ at the _Herold_ the night before. He had been able to push the price for the posters down somewhat by claiming that the sketch didn’t really resemble Peet - and it didn’t; the hair was too short, then too long, the lips too full - but his money pouch was noticeably lighter all the same now.

In a way, Galen mused, it was only fitting that they used the money that Alan had earned with so much pain and humiliation on finding his friend now, and not for themselves. It was the only thing that somehow justified his magnificent blunder.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he collided with full force with a human turning the corner. The scrolls in his arms tumbled on the cobblestones as he felt the human’s hands clasp around his arms to keep him from tumbling after them. “I’m sor... Galen?”

Galen looked up from the scrolls to his feet to Alan’s face. The human was still pale, the fur that he and Peet usually insisted on scraping off shading his chin.

“Alan,” Galen said weakly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t pay attention to where I was going...” He quickly bent down to gather up the scrolls.

Alan crouched down and picked up one of them. He raised his brows when he opened it and saw Peet’s picture. “A ‘wanted’ poster?”

“A ‘missing human’ poster,” Galen corrected him. “There _is_ a difference.”

“You put out a reward,” Alan murmured, scanning the scroll.

“Well, most people don’t go out of their way to help others, until it helps them in return.” Galen gingerly pulled the scroll from his hands. “Where are you going? You... should get some rest.”

“I’m not tired.” Alan’s face was devoid of expression all of a sudden. “And I have a lead I want to follow.”

Galen felt the intense urge to apologize profusely for hiring him out to Ramor, but a look in Alan’s face let the words die in his throat. Now was not a good time.

“A lead?” he said instead. “That’s good news. It... it is good news, isn’t it?”

“I can’t tell yet. I hope so.” Alan rose with him and handed him the rest of his scrolls. Galen nodded at him, feeling incredibly awkward, and made to move around him and towards the inn.

Alan’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Galen... I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell Zana what happened at Ramor’s estate.”

Galen gaped at him. “You know Zana - do you have any idea what she’ll put me through?”

Alan’s face was an impenetrable mask. “I can’t say that I give a damn. I don’t know if this was your way to get even with me for what happened to her in those ruins...”

“No, it was _nothing_ like that,” Galen protested. “I had no idea-“

“... but you owe it to me to keep silent about this,” Alan continued, talking over him.

“She’d hold me responsible for what happened anyway,” Galen said weakly. “It’s not as if I’d be eager to tell her. But she’s very tenacious.” Like Ann, he added silently. Great Cesar, was it right what some Orangutan priests claimed, that you married your parent, in a sense?

“Sooner or later, she’ll dig out the truth,” he added. “If not from me, then from you. Don’t underestimate her.”

“I don’t.” Alan’s face softened almost imperceptibly. “But right now, we don’t need any distractions.”

“I agree.” Galen sighed deeply. “I’ll try to stay out of her sight as much as possible. Which reminds me,” - he lifted his load of scrolls a bit - “I could actually start pinning up these posters now, instead of doing it after lunch, as I’d planned...”

Alan smiled thinly. “That’s a good idea.”

“We should maybe come back here at the same time,” Galen said nervously. “Zana will probably not grill me when she could as well grill you.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” Alan said absently; his gaze was distant again, as if he was already planning his next move. “It depends on how productive that lead is.”

“Well, I, I’ll wait in that little pub down the street after I’m done,” Galen suggested. “From there, I can see you when you return.”

“You do that.” Alan pushed past him.

“Alan!” Galen waited for him to turn around, but the human just stood there, waiting with his back to him. Galen sighed, and walked around him so he could look into his face.

“I swear to the Mothers, I had no idea where I was sending you,” he vowed. “And had I known, I’d never have made that deal. I was furious at you after what happened in the ruins, and I had every right to be. But I’m not... not that depraved... You must believe me.”

Alan regarded him for a long moment. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said at last. “It  happened, whether by intent or not, just like... just like what I did to Zana, and you. It can’t be undone... I’m still sorry about Zana.” He dipped his head and started walking again.

Galen stared after him until he had vanished into the crowd.


	13. Chapter 13

When they opened Burke’s cage the next time, the fog outside the grimy window of the shack was brightly lit, which hopefully meant he wouldn’t be carted to another fight this time.

He stood bleary-eyed in the middle of the gang’s decrepit backyard while Tulko removed his shackles, squinting at the fog that was filling up the yard, and absently wondering if he would get something to eat today. It wouldn’t make sense to starve him for the next fight, unless they wanted him to be the next sacrifice, like the kid he’d-

_Gotta focus on the now._

On the other hand, it wouldn’t make sense to feed him before training, and by the looks of it, Asar had decided that his dogs should get out and play today. Todan was ambling out of the darkness of the shack, completely chain-free, muzzle-free, and with an eager glint in his eyes that told Burke that the apes didn’t need to put a leash on him. Todan was the star of this little establishment, and he basked in that glory.

_You’re a good dog, ain’t ya?_

Todan stopped a few feet away from him, and gave him a once-over. “Feelin’ better today? Think you can see me through your tears?”

“Your ugly mug is hard to unsee,” Burke muttered unenthusiastically. Trading insults was part of the ritual, but he really couldn’t muster enough energy for it today. He just didn’t give a damn about Todan.

“I’ll give you a better reason to cry, frog,” Todan drawled, and threw a straight punch at his face without warning.

Burke jerked sideways to evade his fist, and fought not to let his surprise show. There had been no signal by any of the apes, no official beginning of the training session; maybe they had wanted to test his reflexes. He brought up his arms to prepare for the next attack, and aimed a kick at Todan’s knee.

Todan blocked the kick and moved in to grab his head, and Burke hastily retreated. He didn’t fancy Todan’s knee to his face before breakfast. Or at any other time.

“Are you gonna start fighting some time, or should I trade places with a little boy?” Todan sneered, and threw another punch at Burke’s face.

Burke evaded the jab, grabbed Todan’s wrist and jerked him farther along the trajectory of his punch. His knee connected with Todan’s ribs, and the air left the man’s lungs with a grunt. Burke let go and skipped backwards; much as he wanted to pummel the asshole, that was probably not what the apes would allow. They were “training,” after all.

Todan coughed, then laughed, and straightened. “Right, guess you want them for other things than killing,” he grinned. He rolled his shoulders and sidled to Burke’s left, looking for a gap in his defense. Burke raised his fists and carefully kept the distance between them.

They were circling each other, both men more cautious now, feinting attacks to test their opponent. “Heard you sobbing like a girl last night,” Todan said confidentially. “Hoped you two could share a box, eh?”

Todan was watching his face, Burke noticed from the corner of his eye. He, on the other hand, kept his eyes on the man’s shoulders, his hips, looking for the subtle shifts that signaled an imminent attack. If the dumb asshole thought his face was the most interesting thing to watch, well, his mistake. Burke would gratefully exploit that advantage. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, Toto - did you only start fantasizing about me and the kid last night, or was he a long-time obsession of yours?”

Todan just laughed. “I beat up his scrawny ass every morning out here. I bet _you_ dreamed of fucking it-“

Burke let his face fall in faked shock, and lowered his fists a bit; Todan closed in as he’d predicted, and received a punch to his chin that set him on his ass. Burke stared down on him as Todan dazedly shook his head.

“Dude,” he said, “that’s a whole lot of projection you’re throwin’ my way. You sure _you_ didn’t work off some unacknowledged urges when you beat up the kid?”

He couldn’t say Len’s name; and he hoped Todan wouldn’t hear the slight tremble in his voice, or if he did, would chalk it up to exertion, not - not emotion. He couldn’t afford to feel anything now. Feelings were weakness, and weakness was death.

“Don’t start crying again, pussy,” Todan grunted and came back to his feet. He was completely unfazed by Burke’s punch, bobbing and weaving as if he was trying to be the apes’ Muhammad Ali. “It’s no fun if you can’t see it coming.”

“Can’t see what coming?” Burke challenged him, easily evading Todan’s half-hearted attacks. “I can see your slo-mo attempts coming a mile away. They should retire you before you need a walking stick an’ diapers!”

“Gettin’ old in this business means I’m _good,”_ Todan growled, and Burke grinned. Even assholes had weak spots, and he had just found Toto’s.

“Poor Lennie had talent, ya know?” Todan continued, and aimed a kick at Burke’s head. Burke blocked it, drilling his elbow into Todan’s calf, but the other man didn’t seem to notice. His leg was hard as wood, and Burke felt the impact up to his shoulder.

“Bet he’d grown old, too, but now we’ll never find out,” Todan grunted, and Burke felt his muscles turn to water. His fault, his fault for defying Asar... trying to save at least one of the kids, saving neither...

“Too bad you screwed up,” Todan was suddenly inside Burke’s space, throwing a flurry of rapid punches, and all Burke could do was block, and block, and block, and retreat.

“If you’d been a good boy, Asar wouldn’t have needed to teach you a lesson,” Todan was following him, giving him no room, no opportunity to strike back, “that kid’s death is on _you,”_ and that last word hit Burke square in the face and he blacked out-

... not the word, the fist, and he hadn’t seen it coming, damn... he staggered back, faintly surprised that he was still on his feet.

The kick he _did_ see coming, but he was too unbalanced to get up his own knee in time, and Burke found himself flat on his back, gasping for air like a dying fish. Todan had kicked him right in the breastbone, when Burke had dropped his defense for a second.

_Stupid mistake... what’s wrong with me...?_

Todan loomed above him, and before Burke could react, Todan’s foot came down again, stomping on his ribs - not hard enough to break them, but hard enough to drive the last air out of them, and now Burke _was_ gasping, black spots appearing in his vision. “Thought you could play master, do what you like, huh?”

A weight dropped on his arms, pinning them to the ground. “Don’t worry,” Todan’s fist crashed into his cheekbone, “once we’re done with you, you’ll know your place.” The next hit split his lip, and Burke still couldn’t suck in air. He felt like drowning. “You’ll kiss your master’s feet, and you’ll love it!”

The hits were raining down on his head, jerking it from side to side, his skin splitting open under Todan’s knuckles, and it felt oddly right, as if he deserved this - this punishment, because he’d done something bad, he’d let that kid die, and he’d killed the other one, and he should just take it, just like that...

“You’ll be Asar’s little bitch, and you’ll love that, too...”

Something hot and fierce lit up in Burke’s head, tinting his vision red, panic, or fury, or something else, it made the thoughts stop, it made everything stop-

He brought his legs up and crossed his ankles in front of Todan’s throat, squeezed the man’s neck between his calves and twisted sideways, taking him off balance; as soon as Todan’s knees lifted from his arms, Burke scrambled to get on top of him before the bastard shook off the daze from his chokehold.

Suddenly, their positions were reversed, and Burke stared down into the scarred face, into Todan’s still slightly-unfocused eyes.

In his own head was still that ringing, blindingly white silence; he watched as a fist came down and smashed into Todan’s throat, watched as the man’s eyes bulged, huge and panicked, watched as his mouth opened in the desperate attempt to suck in air, watched as the fists came down again and again, grinding cartilage and collapsing his windpipe, watched as the skin on Todan’s face darkened to a sick purplish color, watched-

Something heavy fell on his neck and he was jerked up and backwards, away from the gurgling face. Burke twisted in the ape’s grip, fingers stiff like wood, twisted around and stabbed them into the black face

              _Urko-_

The gorilla dropped him and slapped his palms over his eyes, howling with agony. Blind. Helpless. Couldn’t see him now, couldn’t catch him now, couldn’t know what he was gonna do

_Run run run run run_

Instead, he ripped the knife from Urko’s belt and rammed it into his chest, right where the breastbone ended, pointing upwards and to the left

and again

and

The big ape fell, silent now.

Burke stepped back, gripping the knife with wet fingers.

He’d killed Urko.

No...

Burke blinked. Not Urko. That wasn’t...

A ratcheting sound jolted him out of his daze. When he looked up, Asar’s bodyguards had their guns pointed at him, ready to fire. Burke stared at them, dumbfounded.

His head hurt. Maybe not just from the beating he’d just gotten from Todan, who was still lying on the ground, gripping his throat and convulsing as he slowly choked to death. None of the apes paid him any attention.

“That was impressive,” Asar’s voice sounded from the gate. Burke slowly turned his head; there was a ringing in his ears, a high-pitched sound, like an audible manifestation of that blinding light in his mind.

Maybe he was going crazy. He wasn’t able to verbalize that thought, but he felt it keenly.

“Such a vicious fighter,” Asar said, grinning, still lounging against the open gate. “You’ll make me good money. Now be a good boy and drop Tulko’s knife, or I’ll have to let my men shoot you, and wouldn’t that be a shame? Drop it!” The last words were sharp like a flick of the whip, and Burke’s fingers went slack at once. He was still staring at the ape; turning his gaze away felt like a titanic effort.

Someone shackled his wrists behind his back. Asar waved them off, though, when they moved to put on the muzzle. “Get Killer here back in his box, and get him some breakfast,” he said, and turned away.

“He’s earned it.”

* * *

The children seemed to have waited for him; Virdon hadn’t even walked halfway down Skinner Street when they appeared like ghosts from the shadows of doorways and side alleys. He hesitated, then slowly kept on walking; Skinner Street was too big and crowded to stop for a chat with a bunch of street kids.

Pero was walking parallel to him at the other side of the road. The rest of the children kept a similar distance, before and behind him. They reminded him of a pack of wild dogs - wary and feral, but more keen on avoiding a fight than starting one. One false move, one false word, would chase them away for good.

He casually turned into a smaller side alley; it managed to be even dirtier than Skinner Street.

“You came back,” Pero’s voice sounded behind him. “Must miss your friend a lot. Is he your sweetheart?”

From the shadows before and behind him, Virdon heard the other children snicker.

He stopped and turned around with a smile. “You came back, too. Still starving?”

Pero stood about ten steps away, feet planted widely apart and his thumbs hooked into his belt, the image of a Big Leader. “I didn’t come back. I live here.”

Virdon demonstratively swept his gaze up and down the dirty alley without a word. “Well,” he said at last, “we had a deal, if I remember correctly. Are you still interested in getting some food into your posse’s bellies?”

Pero glared at him, but said, “I want one bag with oats, one with dried turnips, and one with onions.”

Virdon kept his face neutral, but he was impressed. Apes didn’t eat oats - they regarded it as horse food. Still, porridge had helped the Brits create their global empire, as legend would have it; it was fatty and filling, and the dried turnips would add bulk and vitamins to it, once they had been soaked in water. As for the onions, they didn’t just add spice, they were also a folk remedy against many diseases. The boy had obviously given some thought to the matter.

“That’s three bags,” he said. “One question each.”

Pero scowled. “I decide how much you pay.”

Virdon liked the boy - not just because he cared for smaller children when he wouldn’t have to. But it was time to let him know the rules of this game.

Some of his thoughts must’ve appeared on his face, because Pero made a step back, his eyes wary.

“Let’s make something very clear,” Virdon said calmly. “I’ll find my friend with or without your help, and whoever has him will be sorry for the day they were born. Your cooperation will just make me find him faster, which means he’ll probably still be alive when I find him.” He smiled, and Pero made another step back. “And _that_ will greatly improve my mood. Now _you,”_ he allowed himself a quick sideways glance that implied the rest of Pero’s gang, “are starving. And you can earn yourselves three bags of food for very little effort. None at all, to be precise. I’d think twice before I’d spoil that opportunity by being greedy.”

Something tugged at his legs. Dadi was smiling up to him, a big, toothless smile - Virdon didn’t know if she was teething, or if she had lost her teeth to scurvy. He crouched down and smiled at her.

“Can I have more soup?” the girl whispered.

“If your big brother stops being so stubborn and tells me how to find my friend, y’all can have soup,” Virdon whispered back.

Dadi’s eyes grew huge, and she turned around and tottered back to Pero to tug at his pants.

Virdon rose and waited. More children had emerged from the shadows, and whispered discussions were breaking out behind him as well.

“Fine,” Pero growled at last. “Ask.”

“Who’s behind this?” That was the most important information - if bounty hunters or Urko’s guards had caught Burke, his chances of catching up to them before they handed him off to Urko were close to zero.

Pero shrugged. “Don’t know the chimpanzees, but the gorilla was one of Asar’s guys. Tulko.”

Virdon clenched his teeth. Pero had answered the question - but he had done so with an absolute minimum of information, and most of it was useless for him, since he didn’t know either of those names. They could be local thugs - but they could also be local bounty hunters, which meant that he still didn’t know if Pete was still inside the town walls, or already on his way to Urko’s dungeon.

He carefully worded his next question. “What does this Asar do?”

“He breaks the law a lot,” Pero deadpanned.

Virdon felt his patience beginning to slip. “Answer the question _completely,”_ he growled. “Or I’ll pay you with a very small bag of turnips.”

Pero drew his lip through his teeth, not bothering to hide his smirk. “Asar organizes manfights - humans fighting other humans,” he explained when Virdon narrowed his eyes. “Normally, they jus’ fight until one gives up, ‘cause humans don’t breed that quickly, an’ they’re expensive, but sometimes Asar’s guys jus’ steal them from their owners, or from the streets, an’ let them fight to the death. Pays more.”

“So those death fights are special events,” Virdon mused aloud. “Can you show me where they announce those death matches?”

Pero emphatically shook his head. “Nope. Too dangerous for humans. You think this quarter is bad? There’s quarters where no human can show their face, unless they’re one of the fighters, an’ then that quarter is the last thing they see in their life.”

“If I want to help my friend, I need to go where he is,” Virdon insisted.

Pero scoffed. “Let ‘em catch you an’ throw you into the pit. I’m not going there.”

“I didn’t ask you to go there,” Virdon said, exasperated. “Just to tell me where it is.”

“An’ then what? You can’t go there, either!” Pero threw up his arms, just as exasperated.

“But my friends can - they’re apes,” Virdon pointed out.

“I don’t help apes,” Pero said stubbornly.

“But you’re taking their money, or where do you think the _sembles_ come from that buy those bags of oats and turnips?” Virdon said. “I’ll add a bag of dried meat to your onions if you tell me.”

That sensational offer prompted another round of whispered discussions, but this time, Pero stayed firm. The pleas of his gang seemed to have softened him to the extent that he felt the need to explain himself to Virdon, however. “You don’t get it - Asar rules the street. He’ll find out who told about him, an’ then we’re all done for!”

“He won’t find out from me,” Virdon said.

“He’ll find out _somehow,”_ Pero snapped.

They had reached an impasse food wouldn’t be able to break. Virdon rubbed his neck, trying to think of something that would persuade Pero to challenge the local crime lord.

“How about you leave town?” he suggested.

Pero laughed, a hollow sound. “An’ go where? Other towns are already divvied up - had to fight to claim these streets here for ourselves.”

“I’m not talking about living in the gutters of another town,” Virdon said calmly. “I was talking of taking you - all of you - to a shelter, now hear me out!” He held up a hand. “I know you don’t trust the apes - can’t blame you, really. There are a lot of cruel...” he swallowed hard.

“A, a lot of cruel apes in this town. But they’re not all like this. The ones I’m traveling with are different; and I’ve known them for a long time, so I know what I’m talking about. And there are others who don’t treat humans like dirt. Most apes are against shelters for humans, so the apes who do run them have to fight against their own people. They wouldn’t do that if they didn’t believe that treating humans well is the right thing to do. You’d have enough food, you’d stay warm - and safe.”

He slowly crouched down and pointed at Dadi who was sucking on her thumb, still clinging to Pero’s leg. “She won’t survive this winter, not even with your sack of onions, and you know it. She’s in bad shape - a lot of you are. I admire your tenacity, and your cleverness to survive until now, but how many of your group did the last winter claim?”

Pero didn’t answer, but the desolation in his eyes told Virdon enough. “But the worst thing is,” he said softly, “that those of you who do survive - those of you who are strong and smart and skilled enough - will sooner or later end up in one of Asar’s fighting pits. He’s using the streets to weed out the weak, so he can use the strong to entertain his fellow apes, and make money from your suffering. You deserve better than this... all of you deserve better than this.”

Pero rubbed a hand over his face. “Shelters are small, an’ stuffed with humans,” he muttered. “They’ll just send us back here.”

“If the first shelter is full, we’ll take you to the next one,” Virdon promised. “We’re traveling with a wagon, and we’ll let you ride with us until we find a shelter that’ll take you in. You have my word.” What a shame, that the only way to offer these kids some protection was by giving them into the hands of apes...

“If your master says no, your word is worth shit,” Pero growled.

Virdon got to his feet again. “They’re not my masters.” _Although they like to behave as if they are. Well, one of them._ “They respect my word.”

Pero stared at him. Virdon calmly met his glare.

For long minutes, neither of them said a word.

Finally, Pero shifted on his feet and glanced around, meeting the eyes of every member of his gang, maybe asking for their agreement. Whatever went on between them in that silence, Virdon saw only a deep worry in his eyes when the boy finally looked at him again.

“Alright,” Pero said. “I’ll tell you where them apes meet.”


	14. Chapter 14

When Alan finally returned, Zana was ready to kill someone.

No, scratch that. She was ready to kill _Galen._

When he had brought Alan back to the inn, Zana had been too distracted by the human’s desolate appearance to ask Galen what had happened; and when it had finally occurred to her that her fiancé must’ve found out what his business partner had done to their friend - he had to, when he had called off the deal, at the latest! - Galen had already vanished into town again, to commission the “missing human” posters he had talked about the previous day.

But that had been in the morning! And now it was already late afternoon! Galen was avoiding her, Zana was absolutely sure of it. She had been forced to wait in the inn all day, pacing the few steps from door to window, from table to stove, from main room to bedroom, not daring to leave for fear of missing either of the men when they’d come back, and raging silently at them for condemning her to inaction. The day had slowed down with every passing _atseht._

Sure enough, her fiancé’s head poked through the door right after Alan had entered, and Zana caught a whiff of pipe tobacco wafting in together with Galen. He had spent the day at some pub or other, whether to avoid her until Alan came back - and she wouldn’t be able to ask him the questions she was burning to ask - or because he hadn’t shaken the habit that he had acquired in Sapan. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. Either reason was unacceptable. She was ready to hurl the water kettle at his head.

But they had more pressing things to discuss now. And he wouldn’t be able to evade her forever.

Zana took some deep, measured breaths, and sat down at the table, carefully folding her hands on the tabletop. “Did you find the street humans again, Alan? What did they say?”

Alan slowly crossed the room and sat down at the table. His limp was more pronounced, Zana noticed, and his face was no longer just pale anymore, it was gray. He would absolutely lie down and sleep after his report, she silently decided, even if it meant she’d have to hurl the water kettle at _his_ head.

 _“They_ found _me,”_ Alan said, and tiredly rubbed his eyes. “I managed to get a lead from them - the name of the pub where one can place bets on the fighters.”

“But that’s... excellent, Alan!” Zana said, excited. “That means we have a real chance to find Peet! We just need to place a bet, and-“

“It’s not that simple,” Alan interrupted her. “Man fighting is illegal, even here, so these apes will be a close-knit group of insiders. They’ll be wary of any stranger strolling in and declaring they want to take part in the fun. I’m sure the local police has already tried to infiltrate them. And with Galen pinning his Wanted posters all over town, they’ll know we’re looking for Pete, too.”

“I, I... should I take them down again?” Galen had been puttering around with the teapot; now he turned around, looking at once embarrassed and eager. Welcoming another pretense to vanish for hours, Zana thought sourly.

Alan shook his head. “They’ve already been up for almost a day - won’t make a difference anymore.”

“Well, according to the chief of police, runaway humans are a common occurence here, so I don’t think these posters will raise too much attention,” Zana said thoughtfully. “And Galen is a _real_ outsider - he’s not from Etissa, he’s not even from the mountains, so they wouldn’t suspect that he was working for the local police, right?”

“Probably not,” Alan agreed. “Provided he can convince them that he’s also a scumbag who doesn’t care for the law.”

They both turned in their seats to contemplate Galen, who froze under their scrutiny, tea canister in hand.

“You were pretty convincing as a guard,” Zana said after a moment. “You even fooled Nelva.”

“I... I’m not sure that commends me for the role of someone who holds the law in _contempt,”_ Galen said weakly.

“You already used a number of different identities,” Alan remarked, “and so far, you’ve played them all pretty convincingly. Do you think you can be a hard-drinking, gambling, tough-as-nails trader who loves the thrill of watching humans kill each other?”

“Well, he already has two out of three down pat,” Zana said under her breath.

If Alan had caught her words, he didn’t let it show. “That part of town is off-limits to all humans. Only an ape can follow this lead.”

Galen heaved a sigh. “Well. It seems I need to expand my repertoire to playing criminals, then. Do you have a plan - other than me finding that pub and, uh, winging it, as Peet always calls it?”

“Not really,” Alan said, rubbing his face. Trying to keep himself from falling asleep at the table, Zana suspected.

“Pero only knows about that pub because last winter, his gang was so starved that they dared to sneak into the backyard of the pub to search their trash cans for food.” Alan’s voice had sunk to a murmur. “He lurked at the backdoor to warn the others when one of the patrons was about to come out to take a piss, so he overheard a bit of their conversations. The organizers constantly change locations to evade the town watch. They not only take bets at that pub, they also announce when and where those fights will happen.”

“So I go in and, and play a round of _keppa,_ and try to catch sight of a teller?” Galen sounded sarcastic, a sure sign that he was distressed.

“I can’t tell you what an opportunity will look like,” Alan said monotonously, rubbing his eyes again. “The situation in there will be very volatile, and require quick thinking...”

“Just like in Urko’s headquarters, when Nelva suddenly appeared in the corridor,” Zana cut in. “And you reacted immediately, and saved both our lives. Don’t underestimate yourself, dear - you’re so much smarter than these bloodthirsty baboons!”

Galen smiled weakly, obviously unconvinced. But he just said, “Better give me the address then, before you fall off your chair, Alan. If I hurry, I could still catch their happy hour.”

“You want to go now?” Zana said, shocked. Things were moving so quickly, all of a sudden.

“The sooner I go, the sooner we’ll get Peet back,” Galen sensibly pointed out. “And the sooner we’ll get out of Etissa.”

“He’s right,” Alan said, before Zana could protest, and quickly described the route to the pub, an establishment that went by the somewhat suggestive name of ‘The Dripping Orchid’. Zana decided not to think too deeply about the implication.

Instead, she focused on the human. “You, Alan Vere-donn, will go to bed immediately,” she said sternly. “Or I’ll have to use brute force, and you know that apes are stronger than humans. I have a water kettle at my disposal, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Alan didn’t even smile at her weak attempt at joking. “I should go with Galen.” He rose. “I have a feeling that he’ll need the cavalry at some point.” He drew a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, and when he stared down at her, all the fatigue was gone from his face.

Zana jumped to her feet. “Both of you sit down!” she snapped. _“Now.”_

To her surprise, both men obeyed after a moment of stunned silence.

“I had to wait _the whole day_ until you two came back,” Zana said. “Worrying myself _sick_ , imagining all kinds of horrible scenarios for Peet. I _know_ we must hurry. I _want_ to hurry to his rescue. But look at you! Alan, you’re ready to fall on your face, and I assure you, it’ll happen in the worst possible moment! That won’t help Peet, it won’t help Galen, it might even endanger him. And you-” she turned to Galen, “ _will_ need Alan’s help. Don’t pretend otherwise.

“So we’ll prepare for this rescue mission by _resting._ There’s still light outside, so we can - and we must - afford an _atseht_ or two to get into shape. We need to have all our faculties intact, and right now, Alan, you’re like a walking corpse. So go to bed! That’s an order!”

For the first time since Alan had returned, Zana thought that the ghost of a smile on his face actually reached his eyes. They had softened a bit. She was pretty sure of it.

“Yes’m,” Alan murmured, and turned towards the door to the humans’ room. Zana watched him shuffle through it, and thought that Alan seemed to have aged ten years in those few days.

“Are we going to lie down, too?” Galen asked innocently, and Zana kept her gaze on the door to Alan’s room for a moment longer, until she was sure that she wouldn’t use the water kettle on her fiancé.

Here was her golden opportunity to grill him about Alan’s abusive employer. And she couldn’t use it, because finding Peet was even more urgent.

“No, dear,” she said finally, and gave him her sweetest, insincere smile. “We’ll work on your cover.”

* * *

Virdon woke up with a jolt, heart racing. It was still light outside; he couldn’t have slept for longer than maybe an hour. It hadn’t felt like sleep, more like falling unconscious on the bed. He didn’t remember having dreamed. His pants and sheets were drenched with sweat, the mattress under him hot and damp.

The rapid thumping in his chest didn’t calm down, and he began feeling dizzy and nauseous. It didn’t... it didn’t calm down...

Virdon sat up quickly and pressed his fist against his breastbone, willing his heart to slow down. Instead it seemed to pick up speed even more.

_I’m... I’m having a heart attack..._

New sweat broke from his skin at that thought. He _couldn’t_ get a heart attack now! He had to help Galen to find Pete, he had to... He took a deep breath, another one, straining against the tight feeling around his chest, the feeling of not being able to get in enough air...

He had to be fit for the mission. He couldn’t die in his bed from a heart attack. That would be too - too stupid. Senseless. It just couldn’t happen.

He shakily crawled out of bed and limped over to the wash bucket. He dunked his head in; too late it occurred to him that shocking himself with cold water might not be the best strategy to fend off a heart attack. But when he came up gasping, his heart was still hammering against his ribs, so he hadn’t shocked himself into cardiac arrest, so... maybe... maybe he didn’t have a heart attack.

Virdon shook off his damp pants and used the washrag to clean himself up, trying to ignore the tremor in his limbs and his still galloping heart.

_I’m not having a heart attack. This isn’t a heart attack. This is... whatever this is, it’ll go away on its own. I’m not going to die in here. Not today. It’s not a heart attack..._

But what _was_ it? Nothing had happened to set this off, he had been asleep...

The drug.

Virdon froze.

They had drugged him with _Blaze..._ only once, thank God, and the second time hadn’t been the full dose... but a lot of drugs only needed one shot to make the user addicted to them. What if _Blaze_ was like heroin? What if he was a junkie now, and his body was freaking out because it was already going through withdrawal?

How bad could this get? People _could_ die from withdrawal reactions.

As if on cue, the dizziness got worse. Virdon grabbed the rim of the bucket to keep himself from bowling over, listening helplessly to the rushing sound in his ears, as his heart violently pressed the blood through his veins.

_Not now... now isn’t a good time..._

What if... what if he’d get a bit of _Blaze..._ not enough to... to... He didn’t know if the nausea was part of the symptoms, or a reaction to the memory of his _Blaze-_ induced high.

Not enough for... that... just enough to mollify his upset metabolism, to make him functional until they had found Burke... and would finally leave this cesspool of a town...

_And where do you want to get that shot? Ramor? He’d give it to you alright, but not just a bit. He’d want you to earn that drug._

It wouldn’t do the ape any good - Virdon doubted that he’d be able to impregnate any of his women now, not after those two days of constant abuse. Men didn’t store inexhaustible amounts of sperm in their testicles, a fact that had obviously escaped the breeder; but then he probably wasn’t under such a tight time constraint when using his own males.

Still. It would be prostitution, no matter if Ramor got his due or not. And Virdon couldn’t bring himself to seriously consider that option. Not even to alleviate his suffering. Not even to find Burke.

_But maybe to give in to my own base urges?_

A new wave of nausea hit him, and he gagged, faintly relieved that it had been so long since had last eaten. This time, he was sure the nausea was due to the self-loathing he felt. _You want to mindlessly fuck some janes? That’s what you want? And not even take responsibility for it, because you’d be doing it under the influence. Unable to control yourself._

_Well, you are unable to control yourself, don’t use that damn stuff as your fig leaf._

With a groan, he pushed away from the bucket and came to his feet. He was trembling uncontrollably, and all the symptoms - his racing heart, the nausea, the dizziness, the cold sweat - were intensifying to the point where he wanted to punch the wall, or curl up on his mattress and die.

He couldn’t do either. He couldn’t die, and he couldn’t alert Galen and... Zana. The thought of her finding out what was wrong with him brought on a new wave of shame, and Virdon limped to the window and threw it open, hoping that the fresh air would maybe help. Or the sights and sounds outside.

Outside were only apes. Virdon turned away from the window with new despair. He wanted to go _home,_ to a place where he’d see only humans milling about when he looked out of the window. _People. His_ people.

But that wasn’t an option anymore. Because he... because he had failed. He hadn’t found a new home for humanity, no escape route to a safe haven; if it hadn’t been for Burke, he’d have been blissfully unaware of Jones’ betrayal until the last moment. Even so, they had been too late to stop the maniac.

And Chris? _I’ll find a way home, no matter what._ But Burke was right - they would never fly home in a spaceship. The most they could hope for was to alert ANSA somehow, to come and get them.

And now Sally...

_All my promises... I failed to live up to any of them._

He had rejected Ehme, yes, but it had cost him more effort than it should rightfully have. He had made a vow to Sally when they had married - to be faithful to her, to not even consider other women...

In that room, he hadn’t just _considered_ them. He had thrown himself upon them, so eager to lose himself in their warmth, their scent, their...

_Stop thinking about that!_

If this was withdrawal, he would suffer it; it wasn’t nearly sufficient as punishment, but he’d think of something to... what? Do penance? Virdon huffed and vigorously rubbed his face, trying to get ahold of himself. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t erase the days in Ramor’s keep. He couldn’t... make up for it.

All he could do was hope that he hadn’t gotten any of the women pregnant... hope that the drug hadn’t kicked his sperm production into overdrive... and focus on the here and now. Pete. The illegal fighting. The pub.

He still had an obligation to Burke. Pete was still his subordinate-

Virdon paused.

That familiar feeling - a mixture of fondness and exasperation when he thought of Burke, tinged with the occasional bout of focused concern whenever his friend had managed to get himself into trouble again - was missing. He felt... he felt nothing. Just a gray indifference. He still knew that he loved his brother-in-arms, but it was an abstract knowledge, just like the knowledge that it was his duty to find and rescue him.

_You just proved without a doubt that you’re a man who chooses self-gratification over honor, when push comes to shove. Why are you so surprised now that you can’t grasp the meaning of it when it comes to your duties as an officer? Just because you’ve been a hypocrite before doesn’t mean you can keep up that ruse now. Not after what happened on Ramor’s... Ramor’s stud farm._

Virdon drew a deep breath, then another one. So be it! He could go on pretending to be a man of honor for the others, if need be.

Just not for himself anymore.

But he still knew his duty, and he’d go and drag Burke out of this latest mess of his one more time. And then... and then...

He had no idea what to do then. What to do with his new-found self-awareness. His purpose... his promise... all had become meaningless.

_Focus on what’s urgent now. Philosophize later._

He needed to get those damn symptoms under control! And he didn’t have the time to just ride them out - one of the apes could open the door any moment now, and Virdon didn’t want to imagine what they’d think if they saw him in his current state, naked and trembling.

He had to work off the energy somehow; but punching the wall, as tempting as it was right now, would only alert the apes in the next room.

After a moment’s consideration, Virdon opted for some good old pushups, first with both arms, then, as the tension didn’t abate, one-armed. The exertion did at least succeed in calming his racing thoughts. Balancing on one arm - and pushing his body up with it - was more difficult than he remembered it from his days in the military. Perhaps he should take up his old regimen again-

“Alan, we’re read... what are you doing? I thought you were supposed to sleep?” Galen didn’t sound irritated, for once, just utterly confused.

Virdon didn’t look up. He had just found a rhythm that worked, and slowly began to feel as if he was returning to his body again. “’m coming.”

“Well... whenever you’re ready,” Galen said cautiously. “Zana and I are in the other room.” He closed the door with a soft click.

Virdon switched to the left arm.


	15. Chapter 15

Galen didn’t really mind the blue clouds of pipe tobacco wafting towards him, as he pushed open the door to the Dripping Orchid, nor the dim lighting or the dying down of the conversation as all heads turned towards him; he’d suffered through enough awkward entrances in Sapan to have developed a certain stone-faced routine.

So he walked to the bar, deliberately slowing his step and brushing his gaze over each of the silent patrons, and nonchalantly sat down. “I’m thirsty,” he said to the barkeep. “So whatever you’re serving the good people here, I’ll have that.”

The grizzly ape behind the bar stared him down for a long moment, as if he was pondering which poison would fit best to Galen’s outfit, personality, or Moon sign, before he finally turned away to pour something into a tiny glass. He put it down before him with a bit more force than necessary, and Galen eyed the glass warily. Whatever the barkeeper had served him, he had served it as a challenge. It would either taste vile, or be strong enough to knock him out of his boots. Probably both.

With a slight grin to the barkeeper, Galen put the glass to his lips and emptied it with one draw.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t cider, although it strongly tasted of apples. Maybe applejack - Ango had once managed to smuggle a whole barrel onto the campus for one of his notorious parties, and they had all suffered the worst hangover of their lives...

Galen swallowed, silently congratulated himself for not coughing, and thumped the empty glass back onto the wood. The barkeeper didn’t smile; he just refilled the glass.

Galen took it and turned around to survey the room. No, he didn’t mind the smoke-saturated air, the darkness in the corners, or the doubtful reputation of the patrons.

But he very much worried about their shifty glances, and their furtive movements, reaching for hidden knives and handguns.

“Please,” he said, still keeping his voice light and unconcerned, “don’t let me keep you from drinking, gambling, and whoring. It’s no fun if I have to do it all by myself.”

“Why you doin’ it here, though?” a rough voice sounded from the darkness.

Galen shrugged. “The name of the pub sounded, ah, promising. I’ve traveled through this shitty weather for weeks now. The only thing I was drenched with was the damn rain.”

“Where you come from?”

Galen couldn’t say if it was the same voice, but the direction had been roughly the same. It didn’t matter anyway. He casually knocked back his second glass of schnapps and prayed to the Mothers that he wouldn’t slip under the table before the night was over. “Pendan,” he lied. “Although I’m only there once a year. I’m a businessman, dealing in leatherwares, wouldn’t make much sense to stay in that swamp. They don’t need knife sheaths or ammunition belts there. Not much hunting going on there, see? Except for swamp rats.” _Cesar, stop blabbing!_ He thumped his empty glass on the bar to cover his embarrassment.

Silence fell over the pub, while the barkeeper dutifully refilled his glass. Galen took it, but didn’t drink this time; he needed to give his body time to adjust. “So, anyone need a nice new belt?” he asked nonchalantly.

_Mothers, if they don’t warm up soon, I need to stage a hasty retreat before I find myself with some additional knives added to my body, and think of a plan B._

_We don’t have a plan B!_

“As a matter of fact, I do,” someone to his left spoke up. Galen turned his head and squinted into the smoke-filled darkness, but could only make out a bulky shadow. Gorilla?

“Uh, tool belt or ammunition belt?” He downed his third drink to mask his stutter.

“Knives belt. For my hunting knives.” The shadow moved closer and Galen could see that it was, indeed, a Gorilla. He consciously stopped himself from asking why in the world a Gorilla would own hunting knives - Gorillas were vegetarians. Maybe he just sold the meat and fur. Still, it was... unusual.

Aloud, he just said, “No problem, sir - custom-made belts are my specialty. How many knives? And how long are the blades?”

The Gorilla settled down beside him and signaled to the barkeep to refill his mug. Galen ordered the same, hoping that a bigger mug meant that the content had less potential to knock him out with alcohol poisoning. As they discussed the specifications for the Gorilla’s numerous knives, the murmurs of conversation slowly began to spring up around them again, swelling steadily until they had regained the usual background volume. Galen cautiously relaxed. He had been weighed and found harmless. Now he had to find a way to worm himself into the betting game.

“So, you’re from Pendan?” the Gorilla suddenly said. “How far are you traveling up North?”

Galen thought quickly. If he named a prefecture north of this one, chances were that the Gorilla would test him on his knowledge. Better stick as close as possible to the truth. “I don’t know yet,” he said. “This is the first time I’m traveling northward.”

“Where’d you travel until now?” The Gorilla held on to his mug, but didn’t drink. He was staring at Galen’s face; Galen hoped that the dim light and the tobacco smoke would conceal any traitorous twitches of his nose.

“South, down to the City. I was mostly selling tool belts and purses for the ladies,” he added, then closed his mouth with a snap. _Never volunteer too much information,_ Alan had drilled into him. _It just gives your interviewer another opening to grill you for details._

Sure enough, the Gorilla frowned. “Why’d you stop selling them?”

“The, ah, the competition became too fierce, especially on the purse front,” Galen said desperately. “The producers in the south use their humans for sewing and stuff. They produce lower quality, of course, but they sell their stuff so cheap that I didn’t have a chance. So I thought, maybe people in the north can still appreciate high-quality craftsmanship.” He took a deep draw from his own mug. The liquid tasted bitter, but not as strongly alcoholic as the schnapps. Galen didn’t dare to ask what it was.

“Hm.” The Gorilla took a slow, thoughtful sip from his own mug. “So how much _do_ you take?”

Dizzy with relief, Galen named a price, and for a few blessed moments, they engaged in animated haggling. The noise around them had reached another level of intensity, and it took Galen a moment to realize why.

“The Butcher! You sure believe in your beast!” someone shouted with glee. “Or do you just want to show us-” whatever he had been meaning to say was hushed by his drinking buddies, though, and their mutterings were drowned out by the noise.

Galen forced himself to ignore that outburst. The betting had begun, but if he jumped on the first chance to participate, he’d only raise suspicions again. “You’re a tough negotiator,” he complimented the Gorilla instead. “I can respect that. So, eighty-five _sembles, and_ you get a free bottle of leather oil on top of it.”

The Gorilla contemplated that offer, clearly torn. Galen used the lull in the conversation to lean his back against the bar and survey the pub - what little of it was visible. Indistinct shadows were playing _keppa,_ judging by their movements; thumps and ratcheting sounds from the far corner suggested that someone was trying their luck at _opak,_ but from their curses, Galen concluded that they lost the ball already at the third turn or so. You couldn’t really play that game after the alcohol had already messed with your fine motor skills and reaction time. On the other hand, Galen could understand that in this part of town, pub owners were loathe to allow games that involved using sticks, or throwing knives...

“Alright, I’ll take it,” his latest customer said, and Galen hastily put his mug down to seal the deal fist over fist.

“So, now that the business part is over,” he added, “I heard that Etissa also offers a more... _entertaining_ way to earn money.”

“Is that so,” the Gorilla growled.

Galen didn’t relent. This old hunter was his best chance... maybe his only one. “Well, of course it also offers entertaining ways to _spend_ money,” he said suggestively, “but there’s entertainment, and then there’s entertainment, if you get my drift. And currently, I’m more interested in the vertical version of sports than the horizontal one. And if I lose my bet, I’ll have at least seen some blood spilled.”

“So that’s your idea of entertainment?” It wasn’t clear if the Gorilla’s voice expressed approval or disdain.

Galen smiled blandly. “What can I say? I’m a Chimp.”

“True.” The Gorilla set his mug down with a thump that somehow sounded _final,_ and rose. “Fine, I’ll introduce you.”

Galen hopped off his barstool and followed him into the deeper darkness of the pub’s back. “If I win, I may offer you a discount on that belt,” he said to the Gorilla’s back.

The Gorilla didn’t react to that, just muttered to someone in the darkness before he turned to Galen. “There’s your bookie,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the market tomorrow, where they sell the humans.”

With that, he pushed through the crowd, and Galen found himself surrounded by tough-looking Chimpanzees who were staring him down with hard glares and inscrutable faces. He clenched his fists to keep them from shaking, and forced himself to smile. “Evening, gents. Where can I place my bet?”

“Who sez we’re taking bets?” one of the thugs wanted to know.

“He says.” Galen pointed vaguely in the direction where the Gorilla had vanished.

The speaker scoffed. “’n since when do we listen to what a damn fly-brain says?”

“Since we sold him a belt for twice its worth,” Galen said pleasantly and suppressed a bout of guilty conscience. He hadn’t really sold the belt that much above its worth, but that wasn’t something these idiots needed to know.

Predictably, snickers rose all around him. “He was really grateful, so he had no reason to lie,” Galen added, “and now I have a bit of surplus money to burn. I’ll only be in this lovely town for a few days, and I don’t intend to sleep away the nights.”

“Well, there’s some nice ladies upstairs, if you wanna burn some money instead of sleeping alone,” someone suggested from the back rows.

Galen smiled dismissively. “Indeed. And what’s better to get into the right mood than a bit of bloodsport beforehand?”

Cries of “Oh- _ho!”_ and “That’s how he rolls!” and “My kinda guy!” branded up around Galen, and the scar-faced Chimp, who the Gorilla had introduced as the bookmaker, grinned broadly at him.

“It’s Asar’s new human against Latis’ human,” he said. “Asar’s named his new beast ‘Killer’, so it’ll be Killer against The Butcher. Should be interesting. Bets are twenty to one for The Butcher, though. Could rise some more over the evening.”

Galen hoped his face didn’t betray anything. It _felt_ frozen, at least. If there wasn’t more than one Latis in this town, chances were uncomfortably high that the Butcher’s owner would recognize him, if not here, then in the arena. Galen didn’t dare to turn his head to see if the bag-skinned Chimp was lounging somewhere in the shadows. Suddenly, he was grateful for the dim lighting.

“Well, if that Killer is a new fighter, that’s completely understandable...” he remembered to say, before the conversation could die down.

“Yeah, but the Butcher doesn’t have his name for nothing,” another Chimp chimed in. “Fifty kills, only two draws, and those only because the owners of the losers barged in. That human is a monstrosity! They say his mother got fucked by a Gorilla to make him...”

“I’m sure that’s biologically impossible...” Galen said weakly.

“Anyway, that Killer is done for. Dunno what Asar’s thinkin’.”

“He probably thinks he has a winner,” Galen said, and reached for his money that he had prudently tucked away deep within his robe. “Alright, I’m betting my hard-earned money on that Killer.”

The bookie laughed. “You were serious when you said you had some money to burn, huh? Alright, make some other Chimp happy an’ rich, what do I care? So, how much you wanna bet on poor Killer?”

Galen’s hand stilled inside his robe. Peet wouldn’t die at the hands of that beast - he and Alan would make sure of that. But if the fight was broken off, he’d still lose that money.

On the other hand, if he didn’t play dumb and reckless now, this crowd might still decide not to let him in. Peet was a fearsome fighter - he’d even killed apes. None of these idiots could even begin to know just how violent Zana’s dark-haired human could get. Galen was pretty sure that Peet had more than just a fighting chance against The Butcher.

_How much do I want to bet that he’ll prevail? How much do I trust his fearsome talent?_

He pulled out his money pouch, heavy with _sembles._ “I want to go all in.”

* * *

A tense silence had settled between them after Galen had departed. Zana watched silently as Alan paced between table and window, stopping to stare out into the darkness every time he passed by it.

She fought the urge to jump up herself and make some more tea to give herself something to do. But no - whatever was haunting Alan had to come to the surface sooner or later, and she wouldn’t take off the pressure with senseless activity.

“Why are you watching me?” Alan finally murmured when his wandering brought him back to the table yet again.

“You’re the only thing that moves in here,” Zana said offhandedly. “It’s hard not to watch you.”

With a huff, Alan sat down across from her and folded his hands on the table. He settled into a silent, watchful stillness, one that Zana suspected he’d be able to keep up indefinitely - or much longer than she could keep hers, in any case. She wondered when he had learned to lay in wait like that.

“What kind of soldier were you, back in your own time?” she asked.

Alan blinked - he clearly hadn’t expected that question. “I was a pilot,” he said after a moment. “I... steered a flying machine.”

“Like the one you flew here?”

He shook his head. “No, one that wasn’t able to fly into space.”

Zana frowned. “I thought you traveled through time...”

“We did.” Alan sounded tired, and Zana suddenly regretted having brought the conversation to that subject. Alan longed to go home, much more than Peet did.

“We hadn’t planned to travel through time, though,” Alan was saying. “We really intended to fly to the nearest star. This... detour... should never have happened.” He stared morosely at the table. “Though I sometimes wonder...” he murmured.

“You sometimes wonder what?” Zana prodded when he didn’t continue.

Alan looked up with a sharp gasp and shook his head. “Nothing. There’s something I need to talk to you about, I just... I didn’t have the opportunity before...”

“I’m right here,” Zana said encouragingly.

“Pero hadn’t wanted to give me the name of the pub at first,” Alan said, and Zana struggled not to show her disappointment. She should’ve known better, though - Alan wasn’t quick to share his inner life. In the beginning, he had been nothing but extraordinarily polite. And completely inscrutable.

She had cracked that pleasant surface with patience and kindness. By the looks of it, she’d have to do it all over again.

“He only gave in after I had promised to take him and his gang out of town,” Alan continued, and Zana could’ve sworn that he looked a bit worried now. “They were deadly afraid of Asar and his ilk - they were sure he’d find out who told on him, and would come to kill them all. I couldn’t convince them otherwise, so...” he turned up his palms, fingers splayed, “I basically guaranteed them that you’d find a shelter for them in one of the neighbouring towns. Or not so neighbourly - I think the farther away from here, the better, as far as Pero is concerned.”

“Oh,” Zana said, nonplussed. That was a complication she hadn’t even dreamed of. Traveling with a horde of human cubs, in their already cramped wagon... “How many of them are there?”

“About a dozen? It’s difficult to say, most of them had been hiding in the shadows during our negotiations.”

Zana drew a deep breath. “Well, of course we’ll help them,” she said resolutely, and saw Alan’s shoulders relax. So he _had_ been worried she’d disapprove - or outright refuse to honor his promise. He should've known her better by now...

“I do know that there is a big shelter in Chubla,” Zana continued. “Felga mentioned it to me - it’s the main seat of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Humans. I had planned to contact them anyway, when I was going to open my own chapter in... wherever we’re going to settle down...”

“But Chubla is quite a distance away, isn’t it?” Alan interjected. “I don’t think it’s feasible to take them on a weeks-long journey. We’d need a second wagon, and lots more supplies.”

“You’re right,” Zana admitted. “We need to ask for a shelter in every town we travel through, and hope for the best.”

“I’m sorry,” Alan murmured. “But he wouldn’t have given me the name of the pub otherwise.”

“You have no reason to apologize,” Zana assured him. “It’s right _on principle_ to give the poor things a new home. The shelters train them, so they’ll have useful skills, too, and that heightens their chances to be taken in by an ape...”

Alan smiled his lopsided smile at this, and Zana remembered a moment too late that he regarded this arrangement as nothing more than slavery... which it technically was.

_Well, we won’t change the world in one day. We have to use what’s already working._

“And how are you, Alan?” she said suddenly.

Alan’s gaze turned wary. “I’m fine, thanks. Sleeping helped.”

Zana stared at him for a long moment, her nose twitching with annoyance. So much for taking him by surprise. “No, you’re not ‘fine’, Alan,” she said gently. “And you haven’t been ‘fine’ since you came through that door with Galen. I understand that you don’t want to talk about it. And I can’t force you to. But I can assure you that whatever is tormenting you won’t get better by burying it inside yourself. You saw what it did - what it’s _still doing_ to Peet.”

The human averted his gaze at that. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, apparently at a loss for words.

Zana watched him struggle for a moment. “I’ve known you for a pretty long time now,” she said. “And you were always so... so... calm. Self-assured.” She gestured at him. “Now it’s like your soul is writhing in pain.”

Alan huffed a laugh and rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I thought humans don’t have souls, according to your Sacred Scrolls.”

“Well, you should know by now that I’m a bit of a heretic,” Zana said dryly.

Alan stared at the table, drumming his fingers, and Zana sucked her lips in and forced herself to keep silent.

“I’m not fine,” Alan finally said quietly, after what seemed to be an infinitely long time. “But I don’t want to talk about it. It won’t change what happened, and it won’t... won’t... make a difference.”

Zana decided to let him off the hook for now. “You don’t know that it won’t make a difference until you tried it, Alan. But it’s alright - you do it in your own time. Whenever that is, I’ll listen. Maybe I’ll even be able to help you. In any case, know that I’ll never judge you. You do know that, don’t you?”

Alan smiled his half-smile at her, and Zana wanted to cry at the look in his eyes. It was the look of a man who had fought - and lost - a long and desperate war.

Before she could say something - or reach across the table to clasp Alan’s hand - the door opened, and Galen stumbled in, the smell of tobacco clinging to his fur and his eyes slightly glazed. He sat down at the table with a heavy sigh. “Someone please make me a tea,” he mumbled, “and make it strong. Cesar, the swill they’re selling there...”

Alan rose, probably glad he could flee from Zana’s fussing over him. “What did you learn?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Peet will fight against a human called ‘The Butcher’ later tonight,” Galen mumbled, his head still buried in his hands, “which is why it’s so important I get my head cleared quickly from their poison. They didn’t tell me where the fight will take place,” he added before either Alan or Zana could ask. “I guess they’re still wary of me. I’m to return to the pub at midnight, and they’ll take me from there.”

“I need to get there first, then,” Alan said while he spooned tea leaves into the pot.

Galen looked up with a frown. “You said that part of town is off-limits to humans...”

“It is,” Alan affirmed. “And that’s why I need to be there before you. I’m dead certain they’ll transport you in a covered cart, so you won’t be able to tell anyone where they took you. If I stay away, you won’t be able to meet with me later - you’ll have no idea where you are, or where _I_ am in relation to you -, and that’ll make our whole planning moot. So I have to follow you when they take you to the place.”

“But why do you have to be there before me?” Galen asked, confused.

Alan just smiled enigmatically. “I have my reasons.”

“Well, have it your way, I suppose,” Galen muttered, and buried his head in his arms again. He only surfaced when Alan put a mug of tar-colored tea before him.

“Should I get the wagon ready in the meantime?” Zana asked. “I imagine we’ll have to depart rather quickly...”

_“No!”_

Zana blinked. Alan and Galen had shouted simultaneously at her. Galen grabbed her wrist. “It’s much too dangerous in this town,” he said urgently. “From this day on, and no matter _which_ town we’re in, none of us will go anywhere alone. We’ll _always_ go in pairs, at least, and we’ll always go armed. These parts are lawless, Zana, no matter if they have a town guard or not. I hadn’t really appreciated that before.”

“Well, do you expect me to sit on my hands here and wait for you to come back with Peet?” Zana said indignantly. If the men thought she’d sit by idly while Peet was fighting for his life...

“Yes, that’s exactly what we expect you to do,” Galen said grimly. “I don’t want to find you dead in a gutter somewhere. Or _never_ find you, and wonder what terrible fate befell you. I want us to get out of here alive and, and… all accounted for.”

Zana stared at him for a moment. “Alright,” she said.

Galen released her hand with a sigh and sipped at his tea. Alan’s eyes bored into hers, and Zana smiled blandly. Alan didn’t buy her compliance for a heartbeat, but what could he do? He’d be out with Galen, heroically saving the day.

She’d be alone and unsupervised. And free to ensure that the men’s heroics didn’t cost them their lives.

Or Peet’s.


	16. Chapter 16

Being Asar’s top dog had its perks, Burke had to admit. He got something to eat, for a change - and as long as he didn’t dwell too long on the question of the meat’s origin, he was fine - and they had even given him a bottle with some green stuff and a rag for his bloodied face. The stuff was mercifully odorless and had gotten icy cold when he put the drenched rag on his face; it had taken away both the pain and the swelling at a remarkable speed.

Later that day, Asar’s two goons had returned and had taken him out of his cage - at gunpoint, of course - and while one of them had steadily trained his gun on him, the other had thrown him face-first into the dust and started to give him a not too gentle massage.

That had been... difficult. Lying prone on his belly with an ape behind him wasn’t a position Burke felt comfortable in, to put it lightly. Not even the threat of a bullet to his head had made a difference; they had to chain him to the floor, and then it had still taken a long while before he had realized that they hadn’t stripped him down, and were only kneading his legs.

And then it had taken _still_ longer for him to be able to relax sufficiently so that the ape could dig into the tissue.

The guy was good at his job, Burke conceded grudgingly while he stared into the darkness before him. His muscles weren’t stiff and aching anymore, and whatever match they were carting him to now, he felt at least moderately prepared to win.

Hell, winning meant surviving. He had to be more than just ‘moderately’ determined to win!

Except he wasn’t interested in winning matches for the bastard. Not that he had been eager to do so before, but now he wasn’t looking for a chance to escape anymore, either.

No, escaping was no longer enough.

Burke continued to stare absently into the darkness of his covered cage as it slowly swayed through the streets of a sleeping Etissa. In his mind, Tulko’s big body crumpled again without a sound. Burke’s fingers flexed unconsciously as he remembered the weight of the knife in his hand.

_I killed the damn gorilla._

He had killed apes before - some chimp sentries whose throats he had cut. They hadn’t heard him sneaking up to them - well, that was the idea, after all - and it had always been a quick, clean job. None of those kills had left a lasting impression on his mind.

But this time... this time he had been on his knees, beaten and outnumbered, and he’d still done it.

He’d done it.

_I killed a goddamn gorilla._

And if he could kill one gorilla…

But first, he had to kill yet another goddamn monkey - the one that kept pitting him against desperate humans whose only chance of survival was to kill him.

The only question was _how._ Burke hadn’t found an answer to that not unimportant detail yet, and he had a feeling that his time was running out. Once he was in that pit, he’d have to focus all his skill and cunning, all his energy and determination on whatever poor bastard they had thrown into the arena with him. And afterwards - assuming there was an afterwards for him - he’d be too exhausted to take on that pig Asar.

On the other hand, he had been beaten to a pulp and totally out of his mind when he had killed Tulko. And he hadn’t had a plan ready then - he’d just taken the opportunity that had presented itself.

Of course, now that they had witnessed how he had dealt with Tulko, the apes were more cautious around him. Always keeping a gun pointed at him, ready to split his skull if he so much as breathed wrong. Burke obediently crawled out of the wagon once it stopped. He wouldn’t have a chance out here, no need to alarm his wardens. Let them think he was fearing their mighty firesticks. Let them think they had tamed him.

But if he survived tonight’s match - then Asar would come down into the pit to him, like the other owners did for their champions. He’d put his hand on his neck, and let the blood-drinking crowd celebrate him.

He’d be close. So close. And no thug with a gun anywhere.

_At least now I have an incentive to win this fight._

They were meeting in the basement of a distillery this time; Asar’s thugs led Burke down to a huge room with massive brick walls that swung up in bold arches like an underground cathedral. Hard to believe that apes had made it; maybe humans had built it, centuries ago, and the monkeys had stolen it, like they had stolen the whole damn planet, and used it for their own purposes.

Torches along the walls were not just lighting, but also heating up a room that was already so overcrowded with apes that they had to press their backs to the walls. The air was hot and stale, stinking of tobacco and alcohol and _animals._ Burke felt his heartbeat pick up, from panic or rage, he couldn’t say.

Asar was joining them now, casually resting his heavy hand on Burke’s neck, but Burke’s hands were still shackled behind his back and he couldn’t make use of the opportunity. The apes were gaping and pointing at him, bookies accepting stacks of the small white tiles the monkeys used for money; in the far corner of the arena, another chimp - who looked as if he had soaked in too hot water for too long - was locking eyes with Asar now, and demonstratively kneading the arms and neck of his human.

The human was a _tank._

All thoughts of putting Asar out of his misery fled from Burke’s mind as he gaped at the monster of a man that was hulking in the opposite corner. The guy had to be almost seven feet tall, and almost as wide. Not an ounce of fat anywhere - and he didn’t wear any clothes, so Burke could see that yes, everything but his dick was pure muscle, and he didn’t want to speculate about the dick.

He could see now that the ogre’s owner didn’t just massage those muscles to draw attention to them. He was spreading some ointment on his fighter - _oil? Is he oiling that fucker? What does he think we’ll do, wrestling?_

“Jus’ so you know,” Burke growled quietly, “I’m not gonna strip and marinate myself.”

“You’d do exactly that, if I told you so,” Asar said just as quietly. He sounded amused. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to send you in there naked and shiny. That’s Latis’ kink, not mine. He just wants to show off his human.”

“Is that thing even human?” Burke muttered.

Asar huffed a laugh. “The referees seem to think so, or they’d have disqualified him a long time ago.”

Burke turned his head to glare at the ape. “How long ago?”

“About fifty kills ago,” Asar said amicably. “I trust you to break that series. It ran long enough, for my taste.”

 _Fifty-_ “How the hell am I supposed to kill that thing with my bare hands?” Burke hissed. “You need armor-piercing ammo for the Hulk!”

Asar ruffled his hair. “You killed ol’ Tulko,” he said with a wink. “I trust you to come up with something that’ll pierce The Butcher’s defenses.”

And with that, he took off Burke’s shackles, and pushed him into the middle of the little makeshift arena.

Burke stumbled towards the center and caught himself just in time. A few people whistled their annoyance at his less than professional entrance, and Burke considered flipping the finger in their general direction, but decided against it. He’d need all his attention focused on the mountain that was rolling towards him now.

_The Butcher, huh? Name’s somewhat suggestive..._

Asar had probably alluded to his stabbing of Tulko’s eyes. It was a good tactic if your opponent was much stronger than you, but Tulko had been on eye level with him, while this guy’s head was looming somewhere in the stratosphere. His eyes would be hard to reach, which meant he’d have ample opportunity to lock Burke’s arm, and break it off at the elbow. And his knees looked as if they had been made from tree trunks, so good luck with breaking the joints.

Burke silently cursed his luck and took a cautious step back. So far, he hadn’t discovered a weakness in his opponent. The guy was just _massively_ built. As soon as the ref gave the signal, the Hulk would swing his huge fist towards him like a mace...

And still, he almost did miss the referee’s signal, and almost got his head ripped off because of it.

Because in the split second before the chimp made that cutting motion with his arm and stepped back, Burke had discovered a face in the crowd: tense and fearful, nose twitching violently, staring at him with such intensity that he hadn’t been able to tear his own gaze away.

... but it couldn’t have been, it was just a random face, a desperate fantasy...

_Galen?_

* * *

_The Dripping Orchid. Some people try too hard to be subtle._

Zana leaned against the wall behind her and tried to convince herself that it was just moist from the constant fog, not slimy from whatever filth this town seemed to be sweating out through every pore. She felt strange - light-headed, and not entirely herself.

_Well, I don’t think the girl from last summer would recognize me as herself anymore. Lurking in the shadows, armed to the teeth..._

After her almost fatal run-in with the murderous chairwoman of Sapan’s human shelter, both Peet and Galen had insisted that she’d get her own knife. Alan hadn’t said anything, but he had made her a sheath that could be strapped to her left arm, fitted so perfectly that most of the time, she wasn’t even aware of it. His way of agreeing with the other two, Zana supposed.

And now she was also carrying the small gun under her robe that Galen had purchased in Etissa after Peet had gone missing. She was more heavily armed than she’d ever been before, and those weapons didn’t even make up her entire arsenal now...

Zana felt strangely detached as she watched the last drunken patrons being chased into the street. She’d have to catch the barkeep after the last straggler had left the establishment, but before he closed up the pub.

Better to risk a lone drunk in there than banging against an already barricaded door. She pushed away from the wall, strode across the street, and checked shoulders with the last guest just as she stepped over the threshold.

“Pub’s closed-”

The Chimp swallowed his words when he saw the gun in her hand and slowly raised his arms, his eyes huge.

Zana stared him down while she pushed the door closed behind her with her foot. “I’m not here for a drink.”

The Chimp took a step back and smiled nervously. “If you came looking for your man, he’s not here.”

Zana followed him, straining to detect any furtive movements in the darkness from the corner of her eyes. If the barkeeper wasn’t alone, this situation could get very ugly for her.

 _Why in the white wastes didn’t I think of that beforehand?_ “Now that you mention it, I _am_ wondering where he is. You wouldn’t know where he went to, after he wasted our good money on your swill?”

The Chimp vigorously shook his head, retreating yet another step towards the bar. “Stay where you are,” Zana ordered, and he froze.

“My man was here to bet on a manfight,” Zana said. “I’m not going to stand by while he gambles away our money. So where did he go?”

“Very sorry, ma’am, but I have no idea what you’re talking ab-“

For the second time during their encounter, the ape broke off with alarm. He stared at the bottle in Zana’s other hand, then back at her. “Wha-?”

“You know, the thing about pubs is that they’re selling highly flammable stuff,” Zana said conversationally. “Of course, if someone wants to burn down an establishment like this, the fire has to start somewhere.”

She held up the small flask. “I’m not telling this to every ape in the street, but my name means ‘spark of lightning’. I’d never have thought I would take it literally, but right now, you’re _this close_ from learning what lightning looks like when it hits you.”

She dropped the bottle and watched the ape flinch as it shattered on the floor. A sharp, balsamic scent engulfed them. Zana reached to her left and plucked a still burning candle from the nearest table.

“It’s really quite simple,” she said. “You talk, and I’ll leave. You try to string me along for just one more moment, and I’ll burn your filthy pub down to its foundation. I imagine the value of this quarter will jump up as a result, and the infection rates go down, so maybe I should do it anyway...”

“Nono,” the Chimp said hastily, “no. No need to, uh, make rash decisions. I, uh, happened to overhear some conversations... they have a match scheduled for tonight, in the old distillery...”

“Is that so?” Zana mused, still holding the candle stump over the shards of her bottle. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I swear it’s the truth,” the Chimp said desperately. “You just go there, you’ll see...”

Zana raised her brows. “You really think I’ll go all by myself into an abandoned building where a bunch of criminals outnumber me? Or worse, where that fight _isn’t_ happening, but Mothers know what kind of creeps are lurking in the darkness? Just how dumb do you think I am? Careful what you say now...”

“Nonono, I don’t think you’re dumb at all...”

“My man told me I shouldn’t roam these streets alone,” Zana said sweetly. “It’s much too dangerous for a woman, especially after dark.” She stepped aside and jerked her chin towards the door, keeping the gun steadily pointed at the ape’s chest. “So be a gentleman and accompany me.”

The ape made two hesitant steps towards the door, looking askance at her.

“You go first,” Zana said, still smiling. “Clear the way for your lady.”

She stayed close behind him, brushing the muzzle of her gun against his back from time to time to let him know that he was still moving in her crosshairs, but keeping her distance otherwise; she didn’t want him to turn around all of a sudden and wrestle the handgun from her.

_I never even thought about how close I came to passersby in the City. Any of them could’ve robbed me, force-walked me into an abandoned alley and killed me there..._

Whatever else could be said about Urko, but the Chief General of the Cesarian city police had made things like this unthinkable. The City really had been an island of law and order.

“Tha... that’s not the way to the distillery,” her victim dared to point out as she directed him around a corner.

“No, it’s not,” Zana affirmed. “You didn’t really think we’d go there, did you?”

“But they’re really there!”

“One more reason not to go there with you.”

She didn’t elaborate further, and the Chimp kept silent from now on and obediently followed her directions - until he saw the green-and-black lamp of the Etissan town watch. He stopped dead in his tracks.

“Move!” Zana hissed. “Or I’ll blast your head off and drag your body to their steps like a dead rat.”

 _Mothers, I sound like Peet!_ And what was worse, she was entirely serious right now.

_This isn’t like me..._

She didn’t dare to linger on that unsettling realization as they climbed the two steps to the main entrance. In the middle of the night, the watch would only have a limited crew, and some of the guards were hopefully out to walk the beat. It would make the second part of her plan a bit easier. Or so she hoped.

The guard at the desk closest to the entrance barely glanced up when she stopped right at the door. “What can I do for you two?”

“Kneel!” Zana whispered to the barkeeper, and when he obeyed, she pressed her gun to his temple so that it was clearly visible for everyone.

“You can call out whoever is in command of the night shift,” she said to the gaping officer. Her voice was trembling ever so slightly; hopefully nobody but her was able to hear it. _Why do I have to get nerves_ now _?_

“I’m here.” Another officer had appeared in the door of the chief’s office, maybe alerted by the universal police instinct that went off as soon as trouble was brewing in the vicinity.

Zana nodded at him. “I’m terribly sorry to barge in like that, but I need you to break up a manfight.”

The officer crossed his arms and leaned casually against the doorframe. “Why don’t you put down your weapon, and we’ll talk about that.”

Zana pulled her lips into a tight smile. At least she hoped it came out as a smile. “Your chief told me that he has tried to break up that manfighting ring for the last three years, without success. Do you know what that tells me?”

She didn’t wait for his answer. “It tells me that they have a mole in the police department. And since I have no way of knowing if that mole is you, my gun will point to this man’s head until I have my human back, and you’ve locked up the bastards who took him and forced him to fight for his life.”

The officer narrowed his eyes, but otherwise didn’t move. “I don’t negotiate with hostage-takers.”

Zana regarded him for a moment. He reminded her of Rogan somewhat, although he wasn’t as good-looking. But then nobody was as good-l...

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s try this differently. Let’s assume not _all_ of you are in Asar’s pockets.”

If anyone flinched at that, she didn’t see it. “This gentleman here wants to make a statement,” Zana continued. She prodded the Chimp when he didn’t react. “Isn’t that right? You wanted to tell the nice police officer everything about how your establishment serves as a betting booth for these fights. And where tonight’s fight is taking place.”

“I-i-in the old distillery,” the Chimp stuttered. “Asar’s got a new fighter...”

 _“My_ human,” Zana interjected grimly.

”... a-and he’s fighting against Latis’ Butcher...”

The officer raised his brows at that. “Latis? As in the _Etissan Herold’s_ Latis?”

The Chimp nodded, and the officer shook his head. “The pillars of our community... Very well.” He glanced at Zana. “Put your weapon away.”

She hesitated - what if he arrested her?

Well. Only one way to find out. Zana gently thumbed the hammer back into place and tucked the weapon under her robe.

The officer watched her with an unreadable expression, but didn’t ask her to give up the handgun to him. Zana hoped that it was a good sign - that he was willing to cooperate with her. Even if _he_ was the mole, she had enough witnesses among the town guard now that he wouldn’t be able to derail tonight’s mission.

“Well,” she said, propping her hands on her hips and sweeping her gaze over the half a dozen officers. “Time is of the essence, gentlemen. Who’s willing to earn a promotion tonight?”


	17. Chapter 17

The arena was surprisingly small, but what worried Galen more than the restricted space for the humans was that there wasn’t much distance between them and the _apes_ surrounding them. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be so close to the bloodbath that was about to take place there. He looked around: the room just wasn’t big enough to accomodate so many spectators - people were pressing their backs against the brick walls, or against other apes, forming a dark, furry ring around the two humans who were facing off against each other.

Peet. And a huge brute that seemed to consist of nothing but scars and muscle.

Galen hoped that Peet would be able to hold out at least for a little while, until he was able to slip outside and meet Alan. He couldn’t do it immediately without raising suspicion - just as Alan had predicted, he had been transported here in a covered cart, so that he wouldn’t be able to identify the location of the fight. The good citizens of Etissa didn’t trust him, even if they wanted his money. Galen was pretty sure that some of them were watching him this very moment, just in case he was working for the local police. He had to wait until everyone was sufficiently distracted by the fight.

He fleetingly wondered about his surroundings - most ape houses were made of wood, not stone, and these reddish stones looked unnatural, somehow - but if Alan had been able to follow him here, it was irrelevant _where_ exactly they were now. Galen hoped that the human had indeed been following the cart; he hadn’t seen him anywhere, which better meant that Alan’s soldier past had enabled him to make himself invisible, and not that some ape had gotten to him first.

He put those thoughts out of his mind with some effort and forced himself to concentrate on the humans. Peet had recognized him in the split moment before the referee had given the signal to begin; Galen had seen it in the way he had frozen, pale face slack with shock. He hoped that nobody else had noticed that reaction. He hoped that Peet wouldn’t let his expectation of a speedy rescue distract him from the battle he was forced to fight right now.

Their daring rescue plan was built on nothing but hoping for the best, it seemed.

It wasn’t an even match by far. It was a totally unfair match, designed to provide the maximum amount of blood and gore for its screeching, howling audience. _I always held us apes to be above humans,_ Galen thought as he was jostled sideways by the sudden jump of the ape to his right, _but I guess I had only taken my own class into account for comparison._ The cacophony around him, and the bloodlust it spoke to, sickened him. _They’re like hyenas, clamoring for those poor beasts’ blood._

He forced himself to hold out for another few moments and watch the fight like everyone else. In the cramped space before him, Peet was evading the brute’s attacks as far as possible, but that was not what the paying customers wanted to see.

“Stop hopping around, you stupid frog, and fight!” someone yelled. Booing and hissing followed that exhortation.

Peet evaded yet another swing and managed to land a kick to the giant’s face. His foot connected with a loud smack, but the huge human didn’t even flinch.

The apes were mollified by Peet’s demonstration of fighting prowess for a moment, but their satisfaction didn’t last long. Peet had gone back to evasion tactics, and the mood of the audience dropped dangerously. Galen wondered if he was the reason - was Peet playing for time, waiting for him and Alan to spring into action?

And then someone shoved Peet from behind, shoved him directly into The Butcher’s punch, and Peet went down as if he had been hit by lightning.

Galen jumped forward without even realizing what he was doing. _“Illegal! He was pushed! That’s a foul! A foul!”_

Around him, other apes were yelling and howling in protest, too, surging forward, converging towards the humans. The sharp shrill of the referee’s whistle pierced through the uproar, and several apes with batons started to beat back the enraged mass of apes.

Galen caught a glimpse of Peet lying on the floor. Blood was oozing from his mouth, and his eyes were closed.

Then a Chimp crouched down at his side and began to shake him by the shoulder - that had to be Asar. Galen stared hard at him, committing his face to memory.

He couldn’t stay around to see if Peet was alright. He had to make use of the chaos before it died down again, and hope for the best.

Hope. Galen was beginning to hate that concept.

His hope was vindicated in part, at least - there was no sentry outside the door to the “fight club.” As Alan had said, the connoisseurs of this blood sport were a close-knit community that was as secretive as it was depraved. It was a miracle that they had even admitted him to this fight - maybe because he had been almost the only one willing to bet on Peet, and with a considerable sum, to boot. After he had seen Peet’s opponent, Galen began to understand why they had thought him a fool who was easy to fleece. Should Peet win against all odds, though...

... then this meeting with Alan at the back of the building would have another, unforseen advantage.

He was there. Galen allowed himself a cautious sigh as Alan’s silhouette peeled itself from the shadows.

“How’s it going?” Alan murmured, and handed him the gun.

“Peet was just knocked down,” Galen murmured back. “Someone shoved him into the Butcher’s path, and then a bit of chaos broke out... But we should go back in, before that ox he’s forced to fight against stomps him into the ground.”

“Agreed.” In the darkness, blurry movement indicated that Alan was drawing his own gun. “How many of them are down there?”

“Too many,” Galen said dryly. “But none of them has a gun. The rules are strict in that regard.”

“That’s no guarantee,” Alan warned. “Make sure nobody can make a grab for your weapon, and don’t hesitate to shoot anyone who tries.”

“C... can’t I just shoot at the ceiling?” Galen stuttered. _Cesar, I’ve never shot anyone..._

“And risk that your ricocheting bullet hits an innoc... a non-involved bystander? Would that make you feel better?”

 _I’ve never shot anyone. I never even_ thought _of shooting anyone. I didn’t even go hunting with my father and Melv’s father and Melv..._

Alan grabbed him by the shoulders and leaned in so close that Galen could make out his features in the faint, fog-choked light. “We’re going into a room full of apes who watch people killing each other _for entertainment._ They won’t hesitate to kill us, too, to protect their sick hobby. If you’re not absolutely sure that you’ll be able to pull the trigger if it becomes necessary, don’t go in there.”

He paused. “There’s no shame in admitting it, Galen - you’ll still be useful up here, securing our exit. It’s better to be honest beforehand than to fold when it counts.”

No shame. There’d be no shame in admitting he felt nauseated at the sheer thought of pulling that trigger. Galen clenched his teeth. He had killed those creatures back in that ruined human city, but those hadn’t been apes. Just... abominations.

 _And what would you call those creatures in the basement who are so eager to see Peet’s throat ripped out that they_ shoved _him into that punch? You don’t even know if he’s back to fighting, or if that fist broke his skull..._

He straightened with a determined sniff. “I can do what’s necessary. I _will_ do what’s necessary to rescue Peet.”

Alan held his gaze for a long moment, and Galen hoped his face was expressing the determination he felt. He would pull the trigger; he would kill anyone who tried to take the gun from him.

He could always throw up later.

Alan released his grip on him. “Alright then. Lead the way.”

With a deep breath, Galen turned around and climbed down the narrow brick stairs again. He couldn’t hear Alan behind him - neither his steps, nor the rustle of clothing, nor his breathing, nothing - and fought the urge to look over his shoulder to see if the human was still behind him. There was no reason he _wouldn’t_ be behind him...

He breathed a little lighter when the stairs ended in the corridor that led to the fighting pit. At least the corridor was illuminated somewhat by the torches that had been stuck into the holders here and there. Still, he had to draw another deep breath before he found the will to grab the handle and swing open the last door.

From the top of the short stairs that led into the arena, he had a superior view of the goings-on in the pit. Galen found his gaze drawn inexorably to the drama unfolding down there, just as every other gaze in the room was riveted to the battle. Nobody paid him and Alan any attention.

In the pit, the Butcher lunged into a last, devastating punch at a staggering Peet. It was a miracle that their friend was even on his feet again, Galen thought, horrified. A large purple spot was blooming on the left side of Peet’s ribcage - internal bleeding, Galen’s inner veterinarian supplied dispassionately. He could only hope that it was caused by superficially positioned blood vessels, and not some ruptured organ, like the spleen...

Hope was certainly an overrated concept.

Alan was pushing past him now, a soft click announcing that he had readied his hand-gun.

And then Peet sidestepped the giant flying at him, and grabbed his wrist, and _twisted-_

... and the Butcher took flight, yanked off balance, propelled by his own momentum; he hurtled towards the apes who scrambled out of the way, panicking, and crashed head-first into the brick wall.

And lay there, at the foot of the wall, unmoving.

After a long moment, when it became clear that he wouldn’t get up again, someone shouted, “Go on, Killer - finish him!”

Peet was swaying on his feet, either unable or unwilling to heed that command, and soon enough, other apes took up the sentiment. _“Kill, Killer, kill! Kill, Killer, kill! Kill, Killer, kill!”_

Galen felt Alan stiffen beside him. They had to break this up before the crowd’s volatile mood turned against Peet. It would be difficult to get the apes’ attention, though, unless he or Alan _did_ fire at the ceiling; but he understood now that this was probably not a good idea. With their luck, that ricocheting bullet would hit _Peet._

The referee was inspecting the prone form of the Butcher now; then he straightened and blew his whistle. Slowly, the chants subsided.

“I declare the winner of this fight to be Asar’s _Killer,”_ the ape announced. “Win by knockout.” He blew his whistle again when angry shouts branded up all along the walls. “The statutes are clear,” he shouted. “No killing an already unconscious opponent! He’s out cold, he won’t get up on his own any time soon, Asar has won this fight! Now pay up, gents! Be a good sport!”

Peet had won. Peet... had won.

Galen put his hand on Alan’s arm. “Hold your fire a moment longer, Alan. I need to... just wait here.”

He quickly hid his gun in the folds of his robe and hurried down the steps.

* * *

The room was tilting back and forth, or maybe that was just the flickering light of the torches.

Or maybe it was him, swaying on his feet. Burke was dimly aware that every inhalation sent a sharp pain into his left side - maybe some cracked ribs. Maybe something else. Didn’t care. He just wanted to find a dark corner to curl up in.

The sounds around him were strangely muted, but the light was too bright, then too dark, disorienting him. He felt Asar’s hand grip his neck possessively, and this time, he leaned into it - it was the only unmoving thing in this swirling world, a point of rest.

“I told you to kill that thing,” Asar’s growl sounded at his left ear. “Now you’ll have to fight it again at some point.”

“I really doubt that,” another voice said conversationally, and Burke felt Asar stiffen, felt that tiny jolt travel through the ape’s arm and into his hand, tightening its grip on him.

“And I suggest you let go of my human immediately,” the familiar voice continued in the same friendly tone, “because I can assure you, if I see those fingers of yours tighten just a bit more, I’ll tighten _my_ finger, and I’m not gripping a human neck, but the trigger of a gun.”

Burke felt Asar’s fingers relax; then the heavy warmth left, and he staggered back a step.

_Galen... ?_

It took him a moment to catch up to what was happening, and in that moment, another hand clasped around his arm and directed him a few steps to the side until he felt the wall in his back. Nothing but the wall behind him, and in front of him, Galen, pointing a gun at Asar and, by implication, at every ape in the room.

Burke leaned his head against the bricks and closed his eyes. _Galen you idiot, how many bullets are in that thing? Six?_

“Listen to Killer, he can count,” he heard Asar sneer.

_Damn, did I say that out loud? ‘m more out of my mind that I’d thought..._

“But we can prioritize.”

Burke yanked his eyes open and pushed away from the wall to gape at the source of that new voice. Sure enough, at the top of the stairs, Virdon’s blond hair caught the light for a moment, before he retreated deeper into the shadows again.

“I hope you’re able to set the right priorities, too,” Virdon called down to Asar. “You don’t impress me as the kind of ape who’d sacrifice his own life for his fans.”

_Al’s here. An’ Galen. How... how the hell did they find me?_

He was too numb to feel relieved, or happy, or anything. And they weren’t out of this hellhole yet, and despite Al’s warning that everyone should think long and hard if they wanted to risk being the first one with a hole in their skull, they were still fiercely outnumbered. It was too soon to celebrate.

But _damn!_ They were here! They had come for him. He couldn’t suppress the slight tremble in his limbs at that thought. _I shouldn’t be so surprised... they’ve come for me every time..._

His chest hurt. Damn cracked ribs.

Galen reached behind himself and pushed a heavy leather bag against Burke’s stomach. “Can you hold that for me? I have a feeling I’ll need both hands soon...”

Burke caught the thing, too surprised to object. “What is that?”

“Our money,” Galen said without turning his head. “I bet a nice sum on you and, sorry to say, the odds were quite decisively against you.”

And so he had won big, after Butcher over there had used his thick skull as a battering ram. Burke stared at the bag in his hands. “You’re a real bastard, Galen.”

“Well, how do you think I found out the location of your latest performance?” Galen was still not looking at him, keeping his sights - and his gun - trained on Asar, whose calculating expression made Burke’s skin crawl. “They wouldn’t have invited me if I hadn’t placed a bet.”

Burke decided to let it rest for now. Wouldn’t do any of them any good if he distracted Galen with a discussion. He weighed the bag in his hand. It really was damn heavy. “Well, ‘m touched that you placed your bet on me, an’ not on the other guy. We can talk later about divvying up.”

Galen didn’t respond to that, but his shoulders stiffened a bit. They’d had their share of discussions about splitting Burke’s prize money when he had run races for Galen back in Sapan.

“Indeed,” was all Galen said. “And now I think it’s time to leave this establishment. If you’d be so kind as to lead the way...” He pointed his chin towards the exit, keeping his gun trained on Asar.

The chimp stared him down without moving an inch. “And what if I don’t? Are you gonna shoot me? There are about fifty apes in here, give or take a dozen - even if you have enough ammunition crammed down your pants, you won’t reload quickly enough before they _tear you to shreds.”_ The last words had come out as a snarl.

“Too bad you won’t be around anymore to watch,” Galen said evenly, but Burke heard the slight hitch in his voice. He sucked the air through his teeth as he cast a quick glance around the room. The apes had recovered from their shock and were now leaning in, eager to spring into action if Galen wavered.

“You won’t shoot me,” Asar said with a cold smile. “Pussy.”

“Don’t let him provoke you,” Burke hissed, as Galen tightened his grip on the gun. Once Asar fell, all bets were off. This damn standoff hinged on Al’s calculation that every ape would be afraid to be the first one to catch a bullet. But Burke had come to know this crowd by now - everyone here fancied themselves to be one of the lucky guys who’d dodge that bullet, and would get to tear apart the intruders limb by limb.

They wouldn’t get out of here alive.

“Move,” Galen said.

Asar planted his feet and hooked his thumbs into his belt. “Make me.”

Galen fired.

Asar was whipped around, yelling with pain, but he didn’t drop. When he turned back toward Galen with a snarl, he was gripping his right upper arm, blood oozing through his fingers. Burke turned his head to stare at Galen with newfound respect.

“I had entertained the thought of shooting you in the knee,” Galen said, his knuckles white around the handle. “I heard it hurts the most. But then I remembered that I had told you to get _moving-“_

_“Everybody freeze! Hands where I can see them!”_

This time, everybody _did_ freeze. It was as if the scene before Burke’s eyes was coalescing into a photograph, except for the commotion at the only door, where black uniforms were jostling aside the stunned apes, pushing them against the walls, and snapping handcuffs around limp wrists.

Police.

And then another figure strode through the door and came to a halt at the top of the stairs, hands propped on her hips, and surveyed the room with a disapproving glare that only softened when it fell on him.

“Mothers, Peet,” Zana said. “What did those brutes _do_ to you?”


	18. Chapter 18

It was sweet of Galen to insist that she accompany him to the prefecture to cash in their reward, Zana mused, but the effect it had on her was completely opposite to what he had intended; even though bringing in the cavalry - as Peet had called it - had been her idea, the prefect and the chief of police were talking exclusively to Galen. It was as if she wasn’t even in the room. And it did sour her mood.

“It’s too late in the year to try and cross the higher passes,” the chief was saying. He had been harping on the dangers of winter travel in the mountains for quite some time now. “If you don’t want to stay in Etissa, choose one of the other settlements in the prefecture. It would be a regrettable waste of money if you’d hurl your reward into some canyon, together with your wagon and yourself, and your lovely wife.”

So  _ now  _ she had suddenly popped out of thin air, Zana thought glumly. How nice of him to finally notice her, even if it was only as an afterthought.

“I appreciate your concern,” Galen said, and demonstratively handed Zana the bag with their reward. “But we want to try our luck nonetheless. We have family north of the mountains, who have been awaiting us for some time now, and we’ve been delayed here long enough.”

“I can only repeat that I’m really sorry for that,” the prefect said, although he didn’t sound overly concerned. Zana wondered how he was even able to hold himself upright in his chair - he had to be a hundred years old, at least. Didn’t the district chief ever stop and check on the age of his prefects, and appoint a successor? Or had interested parties bribed him to look the other way, so that they could keep their senile and thus totally ineffective fool of a prefect a few years longer?

“So am I,” the chief said, and to his credit,  _ he _ sounded chagrined. “But at least it did serve to root them out this time.”

Well, more or less, Zana thought, though she was glad that Galen let that statement slide without comment. That criminal Asar would go to jail - maybe even to the gallows - but a lot of apes were already back on the streets, still pretending to be pillars of the community; like the owner of the  _ Etissan Herald,  _ an unctuous toad named Latis. At least the humans had been confiscated, although Zana wondered what would happen to them; they were, as the chief had put it, “good for nothing anymore except killing other humans.”

Spoilt. Useless. And a useless human was a dead human...

_ I can’t save them all. I have to focus on what works right now, and go from there. _

“Well, yes,” Galen said blandly, and took Zana by the elbow. “I’m glad that it’s over, and that we got our human back in one piece, mostly. We won’t talk unfavorably about your, ah, impressive town, but we really need to be going now. As you mentioned, Chief, the weather isn’t too stable anymore...”

“We won’t talk unfavorably about this rat-hole?” Zana repeated when they stepped outside the prefecture’s gate. “I don’t know about you, but...”

“I simply won’t mention this town at all, once we’ve finally left it behind,” Galen muttered, and warily scanned the plaza before them. He hadn’t let go of her elbow since they had exited the prefect’s office, and his other hand was hidden under his robe, probably clutching his hand-gun.

_ So that’s why I had to tag along - to be his walking purse, so he has his hands free for doing battle.  _ Zana didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed at that realization. It did make her uneasy - a lot of those casually strolling passersby could have been in that distillery a week ago; nursing a grudge, jumping to the chance of a quick revenge stabbing...

_ We longed so hard for the safety of the north - we never stopped to consider  _ why _ it is considered a refuge from Urko. _

Urko was the law. A cruel and unforgiving law, crushing humans and dissenting apes with deadly power, but for the average citizen, the south was the safe haven, not the north.

_ Nelva called us outlaws. And these parts are where the outlaws live - cruel and dangerous. Here, you need to be your own lawgiver. And executioner... _

She didn’t like it here. For the first time since they had fled the City, Zana was gripped by homesickness, a longing so fierce and sudden that her heart clenched painfully in her chest. Suddenly, she wasn’t annoyed at Galen’s possessive grip around her elbow anymore. She hugged the leather pouch against her chest and quickened her step.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’ll be glad when we have the town gates in our back, too.”


	19. Chapter 19

“You know, I beat up guys twice your size,” Burke said, clutching his ribs. The bandages under his shirt made it impossible to take deep breaths, but that was intentional - the Butcher had broken four of his ribs, and he had been damn lucky that none of them had punctured his lung.

The boy opposite of him snorted. “Looks more like they beat the crap out of _you.”_

“That knife belongs to _me,”_ Burke growled.

Pero grinned a toothy smile. “Finders keepers.”

“Only if you plucked it from my dead body,” Burke said without much heat. He still felt as if a herd of cattle had stampeded over him. Galen had stitched him up alright, and he managed to pour his teas into the gutter without any of the others realizing it; but he wasn’t up to his game yet, and that was a shame, because they were standing in front of the gates of yet another shelter, and this time, Zana hadn’t returned after five minutes. Chances were that _these_ apes would finally take the gutter kids under their wings, which would be a relief, but at the same time, it meant that the time to get his knife back was running out.

“I can still pluck it from your dead body,” Pero sneered. “You’re no match for anyone right now, even Dadi could fight you. Pathetic.” He leaned back and began to demonstratively clean his fingernails with Burke’s knife.

“I knocked out the Butcher,” Burke pointed out. “You come back to me when you done something like it, then we can talk.”

Pero scoffed. “I’m not dumb enough to let myself get caught by Asar’s goons. Anyone who lets that ox Tulko drag him into a cage _deserves_ to lose his knife!”

Burke licked his lips. “I killed Tulko, too.”

That got Pero’s attention. He stopped abusing Burke’s knife and squinted at him. “You did? How’d you pull _that_ off?”

“Stabbed my fingers in his eyes.” Burke unconsciously wiped his hand at his shirt, as if the goo was still sticking to them. “Got him suitably distracted to rip the knife from his belt and ram it through his heart.”

“Neat,” Pero said approvingly. “Why didn’t you run away then?”

“I didn’t fancy a bullet in my skull,” Burke said dryly. He liked the little guy somehow, even if he didn’t budge when it came to giving back the damn knife. Reminded him a bit of himself, at that age. Except that he didn’t have a bunch of younger kids to care for then. Young Pete only had himself to worry about, and he’d had his hands full enough with that...

He forced his thoughts back to the more recent past. One advantage of being beaten to a pulp for the entertainment of the damn monkeys was that he didn’t have to help with delousing those street rats. Zana and Al - and Galen, the poor bastard - had had their hands full with that, and afterwards, Zana had to scrutinize Galen’s fur for the rest of the evening, because he’d insisted that he felt the buggers crawling all over him. She hadn’t found anything, and concluded that it was just his nerves, but Galen had continued to scratch himself compulsively for the next two days. It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so infectious.

“Good news!”

Burke flinched at the sudden interruption of his thoughts. Zana was standing at the other side of the tailboard, peeking inside.

“The shelter is willing to take you in - yes, all of you,” she added to Pero. The last two shelters had been so full that they had only been willing to take some of the children, an option that Pero had vetoed.

“I’m afraid, though, that they don’t allow weapons inside their premises,” Zana added, and Burke was proud of his poker face as a pouting Pero slapped the knife into his hand.

Despite his defeat, the boy lingered for a moment after he had helped Zana to lift the rest of the children from the wagon. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, then broke off with a sigh and stared at his feet.

“Yeah?” Burke said after a moment.

Pero kicked at a pebble. “Yeah. About joining the free humans. In the mountains.” He gestured towards the gate of the shelter. “They’re just gonna train us to be good servants in there. Good for the apes. But the apes are bastards.” He glanced at Burke as if he wasn’t sure if he’d get a cuff upside the head for that insolence.

Burke raked a hand through his hair and threw a quick glance to the head of the wagon, where Al and Galen were engrossed in a murmured conversation. No help from that front.

“Damn right, most apes are bastards,” he agreed. No use denying it - the kid had survived the streets of Etissa, and had enough first-hand experience with the monkeys under his belt.

“But joining those mountain men won’t do you any good,” he added, and hated himself for it. “The ones we met were starving. Not sure if they’ll make it over the winter, to be honest. It would be just like in Etissa, only with less garbage cans to raid.”

Jesus, was he really telling the kid to put a slave collar around his own neck?

“If you really wanna join them, wait until spring,” he said at last, not daring to look into Pero’s eyes. “And use that time to get stronger, and to... to think about what you wanna do with that freedom. ‘Cause it’s nothing more than a nice idea if you don’t put it to use, y’know?”

He cuffed Pero upside the head. “Now move - your gang’s waiting for you. Bet it’s all pretty scary for them in there.”

 _Yeah, off you go, before I spout any more bullshit,_ he thought as he watched the boy trot towards the entrance. _Let’s just hope you forget everything I said before spring comes around._

_Especially the stuff about freedom._

* * *

Zana had entered the shelter about twenty minutes ago, by Virdon’s estimation, and hadn’t come back yet, and by now, the silence between him and Galen felt suffocating - heavy with words that were crowding in his chest and throat, making it difficult to breathe.

But what could he say? Nothing of what was on his mind could cross his lips. The mere thought brought the heat back to his face, made his fingers twitch and his knees tremble. He couldn’t... he just couldn’t...

“I never went hunting with my father,” Galen said suddenly. “I always felt sorry for the rabbits, and the... and the deer. But I ate them all the same.”

Virdon didn’t know what to say to that.

“I shot Asar,” Galen continued, with a hint of awe in his voice. “I, I didn’t _kill_ him. But I shot him. And it was so... so _easy.”_ He shook his head. “I don’t know if I like who I’ve become.”

Silence settled once more between them. In the back of the wagon, Virdon could hear Burke debating with Pero.

“I had a high opinion of myself, once,” Galen murmured. “And a correspondingly low opinion of my fellow apes. After what I witnessed in that distillery, I can’t say my opinion about my fellow apes has improved.” He cleared his throat and stared fixedly at Tala’s croupe.

“But I hadn’t appreciated before how quickly one can make a, a grave mistake,” he added, even more quietly. “Even without wanting to, we... we can hurt the people around us deeply. Irrevocably. And no amount of regret will make them... how they were before. I’d thought that couldn’t happen to me. That’s why I was so furious after Zana lost her baby. I couldn’t forgive you, even after Zana had forgiven you.”

“So Ramor _was_ my punishment then?”

The words had tumbled off Virdon’s tongue before he could keep them in, before he could think twice about saying anything, think of something better to say, something more... noncommittal.

Galen turned his head to gape at him. “No! Mothers, no, never! Cesar, Alan... no, I, I was talking about myself, how I thought I was above making mistakes like that. Like your mistake. And I wasn’t! I, I...”

He lowered his voice to a murmur again. “I gave you into the hands of an ape who hurt you. Who, uh, violated you. When it’s my responsibility to take good care of you. That’s... that’s what I’d been talking about. I didn’t do that to punish you, Alan. I made a terrible, terrible mistake. One that I can’t make right again. If the Mothers wanted to teach me a lesson, I wish they wouldn’t have used you for it. You didn’t deserve that. Nobody does.”

A mistake. A mistake had happened, and Virdon had gotten caught up in it, for two - or three? More? - days. Days and nights he’d never forget.

And now the words did force their way out, even though he didn’t want to. “The worst thing...” His tongue felt thick and woolen in his mouth.

He tried again. “The worst thing is to think... to know... that children will be born from... from me. Children who...” He swallowed. “Who’ll never know anything but servitude. _My_ children.” There was a tightness in his throat now that made it difficult to continue, a pressure behind his eyes. “And I’ll never have a chance to make _that_ right. I’ll never know... and I’ll never get to teach them... what it means to be a human. Not a slave. Not a... a beast of burden, or a pet, or a prestige object.”

He drew a deep breath. “After losing my children back home, this feels like a cruel joke.”

Galen put a hand on his arm; but before he could say anything, Zana rounded the wagon and smiled up to them. “They took all of them! I’m so relieved... for their sake, I mean,” she added hastily. “It’s a very nice shelter, they showed me everything. Help me up, Galen, dear.”

Galen reached down to lend her his arm, and Virdon silently retreated into the wagon to cede the passenger seat to her.

To his surprise, Zana followed him into the wagon and put a hand on his shoulder. “Alan, dear,” she said. “Do you remember what I said to you back at the inn, when we were waiting for Galen?”

He nodded, not sure where this was going.

Zana’s eyes were piercing, but her voice was gentle. “Whenever you’re ready.” She held his gaze for another moment, then turned around and climbed back on the passenger’s seat.

Galen glanced worriedly at him over his shoulder, then looked straight ahead and flicked the lines. Virdon slowly made his way to his bedroll. He didn’t feel like sewing tool belts today.

“What was _that_ about?”

Burke was playing with his knife, throwing it in the air and catching it at the hilt again. His eyes were riveted at the knife, but Virdon wasn’t fooled.

“Nothing,” he said tersely, and drew the blanket around his shoulders.

“Sure,” Burke muttered, but he didn’t probe. Burke had his own demons that he didn’t want to share. Virdon had never really understood why his friend wouldn’t talk about his nightmares. Not until now.

He listened to the rain drumming on the canopy above. It was a soothing sound in its monotony.

It was the loneliest sound of all.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**2089**

“I wasn’t so sure about you when Alec vouched for you.” Dante’s voice was a harsh whisper behind Gina’s left shoulder. “’Cause he’s a real shithead. But nabbing that key card from your Nazi supervisor was smart.”

Gina didn’t answer; she held her breath as she pulled the key card through the reader, hoping it wouldn’t accept the card as much as hoping that it would. If security had changed the password again - or if Ms Cho had since noticed that her card had gone missing - they’d have about five minutes to run for the woods before security would be all over the place.

Gina had no idea if they would even realize that an alarm had gone off somewhere. Probably not. And maybe it didn’t mean anything that the light went green and the door slid open... maybe it was all part of the trap.

But it was too late to turn back now. Dante was shoving her inside, and the rest of their group followed on silent feet.

Their cell leader’s name wasn’t Dante - he’d probably chosen the alias for the author of the _Inferno,_ just like dozens of wannabe-revolutionaries before him.

Pompous idiot.

Still, this mission had been his idea, and he’d worked out every detail, and so far, everything had gone like clockwork - a truck with cages was waiting in the shadow of the trees, everyone had a stun gun, and they had acquired the layout of the lab, the schedule of the scientists and security, and a contact who not only provided them with both, but who also let them in through the front door. A mole.

Gina didn’t know if she felt comfortable with that designation. It spelled almost like “traitor.”

But she was working for a greater good, she firmly reminded herself, as she led her conspirators down the dark and silent corridors. Dante had forbidden them to use their flashlights, and so she had to rely on her memory - but after a year at GenSys, she knew her way around.

This was one of their smaller labs, where either less important, or less savory projects were run. The Animal Freedom Coalition had elected it for their next big campaign when they had learned that Gina had secured a job as assistant to Ms Sondra Cho, the head scientist of this satellite lab - she was testing some genetically modified virus on a batch of orangutans that she had brought over from Sumatra fifteen years ago.

Not even the inmates of the concentration camps had to suffer for fifteen years, Dante was fond of saying, and Gina wanted to slap him every time he used that comparison. Whatever one could say about GenSys, they didn’t subject the apes to physical suffering...

... well, except when that one strain had killed four apes, but Gina wanted to believe Miss Sondra when she had told her that they had simply fallen into a coma when their livers failed...

... anyway, that would end tonight, thanks to the AFC. They would break out the apes, load them into their truck, and take them somewhere safe. Gina had no idea where that safe place would be, and Dante had refused to tell her so far, claiming that she couldn’t tell the police what she didn’t know, but Gina hoped that after tonight, he’d trust her enough to take her into his confidence. She’d prove herself to the AFC, and then she’d be allowed to plan their next move. One step up from being a mere foot soldier.

She yanked the key card through another lock, suddenly impatient to get to the kennel section and get it over with. Five minutes had already passed, but nobody came rushing down the corridors to arrest them, so she hadn’t triggered any silent alarms. It made her more confident, but also more apprehensive. “Where do you want to take the apes after we-“

“Just focus on the mission.”

_Jerk._

“Well, fine, keep your precious secret,” Gina hissed back. “Just keep them somewhere _quarantined,_ because they could be contagious. At least promise me that you’ll be that responsible.”

“Yeah, _sure!_ This isn’t my first mission, Miss Noob!” Dante was just an indistinct shadow in the dark corridor, but Gina was pretty sure that if she kicked him, she’d find his nuts even in the darkness.

“If you ask me, mankind deserves an apocalypse,” someone else muttered from the shadows. Gina had no idea who it was - she didn’t know any of these people by name. It was how the AFC designed its organization; they referenced, with some weird pride, terrorist organizations as inspiration for it.

“Yeah, but nobody is asking you,” Dante said, and waved for her to open the door to the kennel section.

Gina stood back as the others swarmed out and quickly stunned the apes before the animals could raise hell. She only stepped forward to help when they started dragging the unconscious orangutans on walkie pallet-trucks (another of Dante’s organizational streaks of genius).

The longer she worked, heaving the heavy bodies onto the pallet trucks, the stronger the feeling grew that it shouldn’t be this easy. That security should wake up and stop them. It was so... unreal. As if she was watching a movie, unable to look away from the screen.

And then the last body was carted out of the room, and she and Dante were alone, empty kennels yawning at them in the darkness.

Her leader thumped her on the back. “Good job, noob. Don’t forget to wipe off your fingerprints from that keycard before you chuck it into the toilet.”

“When’s our next meeting?” Gina called after him.

Dante didn’t even turn around, he just raised his arm in a sloppy goodbye. “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

And then he was gone.

The silent darkness felt suffocating. Gina hunched her shoulders and tiptoed to a side exit, throwing away the key card as Dante had advised. She had thought of wearing gloves, so she was pretty sure that there wouldn’t be any fingerprints on it, save for Ms Cho’s, but nobody would suspect her of nabbing her own lab subjects.

The feeling of dread didn’t subside even when she was back in her car. She had parked it a long way away from the lab, in the parking lot of some roadside bar that she didn’t dare to enter despite her original plan of getting an alibi that way. Instead, she was sitting in the driver’s seat, covered in goosebumps from head to toe all of a sudden, and fervently wished for Chris to be with her.

Chris.

They had some kind of long-distance relationship, although she couldn’t really bring herself to even call it a relationship. It was more that Helen had never let the connection to her go silent, and so Chris had been saying hello from time to time, and somehow, they both just couldn’t let go. Or something. It was complicated.

She called him. She didn’t even care what time it was on the East Coast.

He didn’t sound tired, just surprised. “Hey. What’s up?”

Gina clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from clattering. “Just missing you.”

She heard him scoff, or laugh, it was difficult to tell. “All of a sudden? What happened?”

She couldn’t tell him. “I’m just... homesick.”

“Well, hop into the next flyer and come over, then.”

She wanted to. God, she wanted to drive directly to the airport. But it would look suspicious. “I need a very good reason to do that.” She hoped it sounded teasing. She felt like crying any moment now.

“How about seeing me off before I board the _Daedalus?”_

“...”

“Gina? Are you still there?”

She gripped her elbows, hugging herself. “When... when did that get greenlighted?”

“Just a few days ago. I wanted to tell you, but you are a bit difficult to reach.”

She had silenced her phone. She had totally forgotten about her phone, obsessing over the mission day and night.

“It’s finally happening, Gina.” Chris’ voice sounded strange. Choked. As if he was holding back tears. “I can hardly believe it myself.”

Her face was cold, and wet. This was all wrong. All of it. This night, and Chris, and... and everything. Something had taken a turn in the darkness, swung around in a slow, huge, inexorable move, and now they were all headed down a terrible, terrible path. She could feel it. She could feel it in her bones.

“Will you come and see me off?”

Gina swallowed. “I’m already on my way.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked this story, consider leaving a kudos. If you have any questions, suggestions, or other thoughts you'd like to share, don't hesitate to comment!
> 
> The rough draft for next story in this series, The River, is already completed and is currently undergoing revision/beta, so stay tuned - if you don't want to subscribe to get email alerts, check back to my profile page, where I keep you current on the series' progress. I'll keep to the Wednesday/Saturday updating schedule, so when The River goes live, it'll be on either of these days.


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